LONGFELLOW 


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Longfellow 
Evangeline 


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MAR  2  8  '49 
DEC  1  8  1968 


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EVANGELINE 

A  Tale  of  Acadie 


By  HENRY  WADSWORTH 
LONGFELLOW   ::   ::   ::   ::   :: 

Minnehaha  Edition 

•flClltb  Ullustratfons 

"Many  a  farewell  word  and  sweet 
good-night  on  the  door  step 
Lingered  long  in  Evangeline's  heart 
and  fill"*-  it  with  gladness." 


New   York 
GROSSET      &      DUNLAP 


EVANGKLINK. 


HIS  is  the  forest  primeval.    The  mur- 
muring pines  and  the  hemlocks, 
Bearded  with  moss,  and  in  garments 

green,  indistindt  in  the  twilight, 
Stand  like  Druids  of  eld,  with  voices 
sad  and  prophetic, 
Stand  like  harpers  hoar,  with  beards 

that  rest  on  their  bosoms. 
Loud  from  its  rocky  caverns,  the  deep- 
voiced  neighboring  ocean 
Speaks,  and  in  accents  disconsolate  an- 
swers the  wail  of  the  forest. 


This  is  the  forest  primeval;  but  where  are  the 
hearts  that  beneath  it 
Leaped  like  the  roe,  when  he  hears  in  the  wood- 
land the  voice  of  the  huntsman  ? 
Where  is  the  thatch-roofed  village,  the  home  of 

Acadian  farmers, — 
Men  whose  lives  glided  on  like  rivers  that-  water 

the  woodlands, 
Darkened  by  shadows  of  earth,  but  reflecting  an 
image  of  heaven  ? 
^J»  Waste  are  those  pleasant  farms,  and  the  farmers 
£*  forever  departed  ! 

^?   Scattered  like  dust  and  leaves,  when  the  mighty 
c-  blasts  of  Oclober 


8  EVANGELINE. 

Seize  them,  and  whirl  them  aloft,  and  sprinkle 

them  far  o'er  the  ocean. 
Naught   but   tradition   remains  of  the  beautiful 

village  of  Grand-Pre. 


Ye  who  believe  in  affection  that  hopes,  and  en- 
dures, and  is  patient, 

Ye  who  believe  in  the  beauty  and  strength  of 
woman's  devotion, 

List  to  the  mournful  tradition  still  sung  by  the 
pines  of  the  forest ; 

List  to  a  Tale  of  Love  in  Acadie,  home  of  the 
happy. 


EVANGELINE. 


EVANGELINE. 


PART     THE     FIRST. 


"N  the  Acadian  land,  on  the  shores  of 

the  Basin  of  Minas, 
Distant,  secluded,  still,  the  little  vil- 
lage of  Grand- Pre 
-L,ay   in    the    fruitful    valley.       Vast 
meadows  stretched  to  the  eastward, 
Giving  the  village  its  name,  and  pasture  to 

flocks  without  number. 
Dikes,  that  the  hands  of  the  farmers  had 

raised  with  labor  incessant, 
Shut  out  the  turbulent  tides  ;  but  at  stated 

seasons  the  flood-gates 
Opened,  and  welcomed  the  sea  to  wander 
at  will  o'er  the  meadows. 
West   and  south  there  were  fields   of  flax,  and 

orchards  and  cornfields 
Spreading  afar  and  unfenced  o'er  the  plain  ;  and 

away  to  the  northward 
Blomidon  rose,  and  the  forests  old,  and  aloft  on 

the  mountains 
Sea-fogs  pitched  their  tents,  and  mists  from  the 

mighty  Atlantic 
Looked  on  the  happy  valley,  but  ne'er  from  their 

station  descended. 
There,  in   the  midst  of  its   farms,  reposed   the 

Acadian  village. 
Strongly  built  were  the  houses,  with  frames  of 
pak  and  of  chestnut, 


IO 


EVANGELINE. 


Such  as  the  peasants  of  Normandy  built  in  the 

reign  of  the  Henries. 
Thatched  were  the  roofs,  with  dormer-windows; 

and  gables  projecting 
"■Over  the  basement  below  protected  and  shaded 

the  door-way. 
There  in  the  tranquil  even  ings  of  summer,  when 

brightly  the  sunset 
Lighted  the  village  street,  and  gilded  the  vanes 

on  the  chimneys, 


■■  -?  -I 


Solemnly  down  the  street  came  the  parish  priest,  and  the  children 
Paused  in  their  play  to  kiss  the  hand  he  extended  to  bless  them." 


Matrons  and  maidens  sat  in  snow-white  caps  and 

in  kirtles 
Scarlet  and  blue  and  green,  with  distaffs  spinning 

the  golden 
Flax  for  the  gossiping  loom  3,  whose  noisy  shuttles 

within  doors 
Mingled  their  sound  with  the  whir  of  the  wheels 

and  the  songs  of  the  maidens. 
Solemnly  down  the  street  came  the  parish  priest, 

and  the  children 
Paused  in  their  play  to  kiss  tbe  hand  he  extended 

to  bless  them. 


EVANGELINE.*  u 

Reverend  walked  he  among  them ;  and  up  rose 

matrons  and  maidens, 
Hailing  his  slow  approach  with  words  of  affec- 
tionate welcome. 
Then  came  the  laborers  home  from  the  field,  and 

serenely  the  sun  sank 
Down  to  his  rest,  and  twilight  prevailed.     Anon 

from  the  belfry 
Softly  the  Angelus  sounded,  and  over  the  roofs  of 

the  village 
Columns  of  pale  blue  smoke,  like  clouds  of  incense 

ascending, 
Rose  from  a  hundred  hearths,  the  homes  of  peace 

and  contentment. 
Thus  dwelt  together  in  love  these  simple  Acadian 

farmers, — 
Dwelt  in  the  love  of  God  and  of  man.  Alike  were 

they  free  from 
Fear,  that  reigns  with  the  tyrant,  and  envy,  the 

vice  of  republics. 
Neither  locks  had  they  to  their  doors,  nor  bars  to 

their  windows  ; 
But  their  dwellings  were  open  as  day  and  the 

hearts  of  the  owners  ; 
There  the  richest  was  poor,  and  the  poorest  lived 

in  abundance. 

Somewhat  apart  from  the  village,  and  nearer 
the  Basin  of  Minas, 

Benedict  Bellefontaine,  the  wealthiest  farmer  of 
Grand- Pre, 

Dwelt  on  his  goodly  acres  ;  and  with  him,  direc- 
ting his  household, 

Gentle  Evangeline  lived,  his  child,  and  the  pride 
of  the  village. 

Stalworth  and  stately  in  form  was  the  man  of 
seventy  winters  ; 

Hearty  and  hale  was  he,  an  oak  that  is  covered 
with  snow-flakes  ; 


t2  EVANGELINE. 

White  as  the  snow  were  his  locks,  and  his  cheeks 

as  brown  as  the  oak-leaves. 
Fair  was  she  to  behold,  that  maiden  of  seventeen 
*  summers. 

Black  were  her  eyes  as  the  berry  that  grows  on 

the  thorn  by  the  wayside, 
Black,  yet  how  softly  they  gleamed  beneath  the 

brown  shade  of  her  tresses  ! 
Sweet  was  her  breath  as  the  breath  of  kine  that 

feed  in  the  meadows. 
When  in  the  harvest  heat  she  bore  to  the  reapers 

at  noontide 
Flagons  of  home-brewed  ale,  ah  !    fair  in   sooth 

was  the  maiden. 
Fairer  was  she  when,  on  Sunday  morn,  while  the 

bell  from  its  turret 
Sprinkled  with  holy  sounds  the  air,  as  the  priest 

with  his  hyssop 
Sprinkles  the  congregation,  and  scatters  blessings 

upon  them, 
Down  the  long  street  she  passed,  with  her  chaplet 

of  beads  and  her  missal, 
Wearing  her  Norman  cap,  and  her  kirtle  of  blue, 

and  the  ear-rings, 
Brought  in  the  olden  time  from   France,    and 

since,  as  an  heirloom, 
Handed  down  from  mother  to  child,  through  long 

generations. 
But    a    celestial    brightness  —  a    more    ethereal 

beauty — 
Shone  on  her  face  and  encircled  her  form,  when, 

after  confession, 
Homeward  serenely  she  walked  with  God's  bene- 
diction upon  her. 
When  she  had  passed,  it  seemed  like  the  ceasing 

of  exquisite  music. 


Firmly  builded  with  rafters  of  oak,  the  house 
of  the  farmer 


EVANGELINE. 


1.1 


Stood  on  the  side  of  a  hill  commanding  the  sea  : 

and  a  shady 
Sycamore  grew  by  the  door,  with  a  woodbine 

wreathing  aronnd  it. 
Rudely  carved  was  the  porch,  with  seats  beneath  ; 

and  a  footpath 


"  Firmly  builded  with  rafiers  of  oak,  tlie  house  of  the  farmer 
Stood  on  the  side  of  a  hill  commanding-  the  sea." 


L,ed  through  an  orchard  wide  and  disappeared  in 

the  meadow. 
Under  the  sycamore-tree  were  hives  overhung  by 

a  penthouse, 
Such  as  the  traveller  ppp*  J«  regions  remote  by 

the  roadside, 


V  EVANGELINE. 

Built  o'er  a  box  for  the  poor,   or  the  blessed 

image  of  Mary. 
Farther  down,  on  the  slope  of  the  hill,  was  the 

well  with  its  moss-grown 
Bucket,  fastened  with  iron,  and  near  it  a  trough 

for  the  horses. 
Shielding  the  house  from  storms,  on  the  north, 

were  the  barns  and  the  farm-yard, 
There  stood  the  broad-wheeled  wains  and  the 

antique  ploughs  and  the  harrows  ; 
There  were  the  folds  for  the  sheep;  and  there,  in 

his  feathered  seraglio , 
Strutted  the  lordly  turkey,  and  crowed  the  cock, 

with  the  selfsame 
Voice  that  in  ages  of  old  had  startled  the  peni- 
tent Peter. 
Bursting  with  hay  were  the  barns,  themselves  a 

village.     In  each  one 
Far  o'er  the  gable  projected  a  roof  of  thatch;  and 

a  staircase, 
Under  the  sheltering  eaves,  led  up  to  the  odorous 

corn-loft. 
There,  too,  the  dove-cot  stood,  with  its  meek  and 

innocent  inmates 
Murmuring  ever  of  love ;    while  above  in   the 

variant  breezes 
Numberless  noisy  weathercocks  rattled  and  sang 

of  mutation. 

Thus,  at  peace  with  God  and  the  world,  the 
farmer  of  Grand- Pre 

Lived  on  his  sunny  farm,  and  Evangeline  gov- 
erned his  household. 

Many  a  youth,  as  he  knelt  in  the  church  and 
opened  his  missal, 

Fixed  his  eyes  upon  her,  as  the  saint  of  his  deep- 
est devotion  ; 

Happy  was  he  who  might  touch  her  hand  or  the 
hem  of  her  garment ! 


EVANGELINE.  15 

Many  a  suitor  came  to  her  door,  by  the  dark- 
ness befriended, 
And,  as  he  knocked  and  waited  to  hear  the  sound 

of  her  footsteps, 
Knew  not  which  beat  the  louder,  his  heart  or  the 

knocker  of  iron  ; 
Or  at  the  joyous  feast  of  the  Patron  Saint  of  the 

village, 
Bolder  grew,  and  pressed  her  hand  in  the  dance 

as  he  whispered 
Hurried  words  of  love,  that  seemed  a  part  of  the 

music. 
But,  among  all  who  came,  young  Gabriel  only 

was  welcome  ; 
Gabriel  L,ajeunesse,  the  son  of  Basil  the  black- 
smith, 
Who  was   a   mighty   man   in   the   village,    and 

honored  of  all  men  ; 
For,  since  the  birth  of  time,  throughout  all  ages 

and  nations, 
Has  the  craft  of  the  smith  been  held  in  repute  by 

the  people. 
Basil  was  Benedict's  friend.     Their  children  from 

earliest  childhood 
Grew  up   together   as  brother   and  sister  ;    and 

Father  Felician, 
Priest  and  pedagogue  both  in  the  village,   had 

taught  them  their  letters 
Out  of  the  selfsame  book,  with  the  hymns  of  the 

church  and  the  plain-song. 
But  when  the  hymn  was  sung,  and   the   daily 

lesson  completed, 
Swiftly  they  hurried  away  to  the  forge  of  Basil 

the  blacksmith. 
There  at  the  door  they  stood,  with  wondering 

eyes  to  behold  him 
Take  in  his  leathern  lap  the  hoof  of  the  horse  as 

a  plaything, 
Nailing  the  shoe  in  its  place  ;  while  near  him  the 

tire  of  the  cart-wheel 


i6 


EVANGELINE. 


Lay  like  a  fiery  snake,  coiled  round  in  a  circle  of 
cinders. 

Oft  on  autumnal  eves,  when  without  in  the  gath- 
ering darkness 

Bursting  with  light  seemed  the  smithy,  through 
every  cranny  and  crevice, 

Warm  by  the  forge  within  they  watched  the 
laboring  bellows, 

And  as  its  panting  ceased,  and  the  sparks  ex- 
pired in  the  ashes, 


■'  Oft  in  the  barns  they  climbed  to  the  populous  nests  on  the  rafters." 


Merrily  laughed,  and  said  they  were  nuns  going 

into  the  chapel. 
Oft  on  sledges  in  winter,  as  swift  as  the  swoop  of 

the  eagle, 
Down  the  hillside  bounding,  they  glided  away 

o'er  the  meadow. 
Oft  in  the  barns  they  climbed  to  the  populous 

nests  on  the  rafters, 
Seeking  with   eager  eyes  that  wondrous,  stone, 

which  the  swallow 
Brings  from  the  shore  of  the  sea  to  restore  the 

sight  of  its  fledglings  ; 


rt    o 


£  H 


•c    o 


an,  m 


EVANGELINE. 


17 


Lucky  was  he  who  found  that  stone  in  the  nest 

of  the  swallow  ! 
Thus  passed  a  few  swift  years,  and  they  no  longer 

were  children. 
He  was  a  valiant  youth,  and  his  face,  like  the 

face  of  the  morning, 
Gladdened  the  earth  with  its  light,  and  ripened 

thought  into  action. 
She  was  a  woman  now,  with  the  heart  and  hopes 

of  a  woman. 
1 '  Sunshine  of  Saint  Eulalie  ' '   was  she  called  ; 

for  that  was  the  sunshine 
Which,  as  the  farmers  believed,  would  load  their 

orchards  with  apples ; 
She,  too,  would  bring  to  her  husband's  house 

delight  and  abundance, 
Filling  it  full  of  love  and   the  ruddy  faces  of 

children. 


18 


EVANGELINE. 


II. 


OW  had  the  season  returned,  when  the 
nights  grow  colder  and  longer, 
And  the  retreating  sun  the  sign  of 

the  Scorpion  enters. 
Birds  of  passage  sailed  through  the 
leaden  air,  from  the  ice-bound, 
Desolate  northern  bays  to  the  shores  of 

tropical  islands. 
Harvests  were  gathered  in ;  and  wild  with 
the  winds  of  September 

1        Wrestled  the  trees  of  the  forest,  as  Jacob 
of  old  with  the  angel. 
All  the  signs  foretold  a  winter  long  and 
inclement. 
Bees,  with  prophetic  instinct  of  want,  had  hoarded 

their  honey 
Till  the  hives  overflowed;  and  the  Indian  hunters 

asserted 
Cold  would  the  winter  be,  for  thick  was  the  fur 

of  the  foxes. 
Such  was  the  advent  of  autumn.     Then  followed 

that  beautiful  season, 
Called  by  the  pious  Acadian  peasants  the  Summer 

of  All-Saints! 
Filled  was  the  air  with  a  dreamy  and  magical 

light ;  and  the  landscape 
Lay  as  if  new-created  in  all  ths  freshness  of  child- 
hood. 


EVANGELINE.  f<j 

Peace  seemed  to  reign  upon  earth,  and  the  rest- 
less heart  of  the  ocean 
Was  for  a  moment  consoled.     All  sounds  were  in 

harmony  blended. 
Voices  of  children  at  play,  the  crowing  of  cocks  in 

the  farm-yards, 
Whir  of  wings  in  the  drowsy  air,  and  the  cooing 

of  pigeons, 
All  were  subdued  and  low  as  the  murmurs  of  love, 

and  the  great  sun 
Looked  with  the  eye  of  love  through  the  golden 

vapors  around  him ; 
While  arrayed  in  its  robes  of  russet  and  scarlet 

and  yellow, 
Bright  with  the  sheen  of  the  dew,  each  glittering 

tree  of  the  forest 
Flashed  like  the  plane-tree  the  Persian  adorned 

with  mantles  and  jewels. 

)J? 

Now  recommenced  the  reign  of  rest  and  affec- 
tion and  stillness. 
Day  with  its  burden  and  heat  had  departed,  and 

twilight  descending 
Brought  back  the  evening  star  to  the  sky,  and 

the  herds  to  the  homestead. 
Pawing  the  ground  they  came,  and  resting  their 

necks  on  each  other, 
And  with  their  nostrils  distended  inhaling  the 

freshness  of  evening. 
Foremost,  bearing  the  bell,  Evangeline's  beautiful 

heifer, 
Proud  of  her  snow-white  hide,  and  the  ribbon  that 

waved  from  her  collar, 
Quietly  paced  and  slow,  as  if  conscious  of  human 

affection. 
Then  came  the  shepherd  back  with  his  bleating 

flocks  from  the  seaside, 
Where  was  their  favorite  pasture.     Behind  them 

followed  the  watch-dog, 


20  EVANGELINE. 

Patient,  full  of  importance,  and  grand  in  the  priae 

of  his  instinct, 
Walking  from  side  to  side  with  a  lordly  air,  and 

superbly- 
Waving  his  bushy  tail,  and  urging  forward  the 

stragglers ; 
Regent  of  flocks  was  he  when  the  shepherd  slept ; 

their  protector, 
When  from  the  forest  at  night,  through  the  starry 

silence,  the  wolves  howled. 
Late,  with  the  rising  moon,  returned  the  wains 

from  the  marshes, 
Laden  with  briny  hay,  that  filled  the  air  with  its 

odor. 
Cheerily  neighed  the  steeds,  with   dew  on  their 

manes  and  their  fetlocks, 
While  aloft  on  their  shoulders  the  wooden  and 

ponderous  saddles, 
Painted  with  brilliant  dyes,  and  adorned  with 

tassels  of  crimson, 
Nodded  in  bright  array,  like  hollyhocks  heavy 

with  blossoms. 
Patiently  stood  the  cows  meanwhile,  and  yielded 

their  udders 
Unto  the  milkmaid's  hand  ;  whilst  loud  and  in 

regular  cadence 
Into  the  sounding  pails  the  foaming  streamlets 

descended. 
Lowing  of  cattle  and  peals  of  laughter  were  heard 

in  the  farm-yara, 
Echoed  back  by  the  barns.     Anon  they  sank  into 

stillness ; 
Heavily  closed,  with  a  jarring  sound,  the  valves 

of  the  barn-doors, 
Rattled  the  wooden  bars,  and  all  for  a  season  was 

silent. 


In-doors,  warm  by  the  wide-mouthed  fireplace, 
idly  the  farmer 


"  Foremost,  bearing  the  bell,  Evangeline's  beautiful  heifer. 


22  EVANGELINE. 

Sounded  the  wooden  latch,  and  the  door  swung 

back  on  its  hinges. 
Benedict  knew  by  the  hob-nailed  shoes  it  was 
t.  Basil  the  blacksmith, 

And  by  her  beating  heart  Evangeline  knew  who 

was  with  him. 
"Welcome!"    the  farmer  exclaimed,    as    their 

footsteps  paused  on  the  threshold, 
"  Welcome,  Basil,  my  friend  !     Come,   take  thy 

place  on  the  settle 
Close  by  the  chimney-side,  which  is  always  empty 

without  thee  ; 
Take  from  the  shelf  overhead  thy  pipe  and  the  box 

of  tobacco  ; 
Never  so  much  thyself  art  thou  as  when  through 

the  curling 
Smoke  of  the  pipe  or  the  forge  thy  friendly  and 

jovial  face  gleams 
Round  and  red  as  the  harvest  moon  through  the 

mist  of  the  marshes. ' ' 
Then,   with  a  smile   of  content,  thus   answered 

Basil  the  blacksmith, 
Taking  with  easy  air  the  accustomed  seat  by  the 

fireside : — 
"  Benedict  Bellefontaine,  thou  hast  ever  thy  jest 

and  thy  ballad  ! 
Ever  in  cheerfullest  mood  art  thou,  when  others 

are  filled  with 
Gloomy  forebodings  of  ill,  and  see  only  ruin  be- 
fore them. 
Happy  art  thou,  as  if  every  day  thou  hadst  picked 

up  a  horseshoe." 
Pausing  a  moment,  to  take  the  pipe,  that  Evan- 
geline brought  him, 
And  with  a  coal  from  the  embers  had  lighted,  he 

slowly  continued  : — 
' '  Four  days  now  are  passed  since  the  English 

ships  at  their  anchors 
Ride  in  the  Gaspereau's  mouth,  with  their  cannon 

pointed  against  us. 


EVANGELINE.  23 

What  their  design  may  be  is  unknown  ;  but  all 

are  commanded 
On  the  morrow  to  meet  in  the  church,  where  his 

Majesty's  mandate 
Will  be  proclaimed  as  law  in  the  land.     Alas  !  in 

the  mean  time 
Many  surmises  of  evil  alarm  the  hearts  of  the 

people." 
Then  made  answer  the  farmer  :  —  "  Perhaps  some 

friendlier  purpose 
Brings  these  ships  to  our  shores.     Perhaps  the 

harvests  in  Bngland 
By  untimely  rains  or  untimelier  heat  have  been 

blighted, 
And  from  our  bursting  barns  they  would  feed 

their  cattle  and  children." 
"  Not  so  thinketh  the  folk  in  the  village, "  said, 

warmly,  the  blacksmith, 
Shaking  his  head,  as  in  doubt ;  then,  heaving  a 

sigh,  he  continued  :  — 
■ '  Louisburg  is  not  forgotten,  nor  Beau  Sejour, 

nor  Port  Royal. 
Many  already  have  fled  to  the  forest,  and  lurk  on 

its  outskirts, 
Waiting  with  anxious  hearts  the  dubious  fate  of 

to-morrow. 
Arms  have  been  taken  from  us,  and  warlike  weap- 
ons of  all  kinds ; 
Nothing  is  left  but  the  blacksmith's  sledge  and 

the  scythe  of  the  mower. ' ' 
Then   with   a  pleasant   smile  made   answer   the 

jovial  farmer  :  — 
' '  Safer  are  we  unarmed,  in  the  midst  of  our  flocks 

and  our  cornfields, 
Safer  within  these  peaceful  dikes ,  besieged  by  the 

ocean, 
Than  our  fathers  in  forts,  besieged  by  the  enemy's 

cannon. 
Fear  no  evil,   my  friend,   and  to-night  may  no 

shadow  of  sorrow 


24 


EVANGELINE. 


Fall  on  this  house  and  hearth  ■   for  this  is  the 

night  of  the  contract. 
Built  are  the  house  and  the  barn.     The  merry 

lads  of  the  village 
Strongly  have  built  them  and  well ;  and,  breaking 

the  glebe  round  about  them, 
Filled  the  barn  with  hay,  and  the  house  with  food 

for  a  twelvemonth. 
Rene  L,eblanc  will  be  here  anon,  with  his  papers 

and  inkhorn. 
Shall  we  not  then  be  glad,  and  rejoice  in  the  joy 

of  our  children  ?  ' ' 
As  apart  by  the  window  she  stood,  with  her  hand 

in  her  lover's, 
Blushing  Evangeline  heard  the  words  that  her 

father  had  spoken, 
And,  as  they  died  on  his  lips,  the  worthy  notary 

entered. 


EVANGELINE. 


25 


III. 


kENT  like  a  laboring  oar,  that  toils  in 
the  surf  of  the  ocean, 
Bent,  but  not   broken,  by  age  was 

the  form  of  the  notary  public  ; 
Shocks  of  yellow  hair,  like  the  silken 
floss  of  the  maize,  hung 
Over   his  shoulders  ;    his    forehead    was 

high  ;  and  glasses  with  horn  bows 
Sat   astride  on   his  nose,  with  a  look  of 

wisdom  supernal. 
Father  of  twenty  children  was  he,    and 

more  than  a  hundred 
Children's  children  rode  on  his  knee,  and 
heard  his  great  watch  tick. 
Four  long  years  in  the  times  of  the  war  had  he 

languished  a  captive, 
Suffering  much  in  an  old  French  fort  as  the  friend 

of  the  English. 
Now,  though  warier  grown,  without  all  guile  or 

suspicion, 
Ripe  in  wisdom  was  he,  but  patient,  and  simple, 

and  childlike. 
He  was  beloved  by  all,  and  most  of  all  by  the 

children  ; 
For  he  told  them  tales  of  the  Iyoup-garou'in  the 

forest, 
And  of  the  goblin  that  came  in  the  night  to  water 
the  horses, 


26  EVANGELINE. 

And  of  the  white  Letiche,  the  ghost  of  a  child 

who  unchristened 
Died,    and  was  doomed    to  haunt    unseen    the 
R  chambers  of  children  ; 

And  how  on  Christmas  eve  the  oxen  talked  in 

the  stable, 
And  how  the  fever  was  cured  by  a  spider  shut  up 

in  a  nutshell, 
And   of  the  marvellous  powers   of    four-leaved 

clover  and  horsehoes, 
With  whatsoever  else  was  writ  in  the  lore  of  the 

village. 
Then  up  rose  from  his  seat  by  the  fireside  Basil 

the  blacksmith, 
Knocked   from  his  pipe   the  ashes,    and   slowly 

extending  his  right  hand, 
"Father   Leblanc,"    he  exclaimed,   "thou   hast 

heard  the  talk  in  the  village, 
^And,  perchance,  canst  tell  us  some  news  of  these 

ships  and  their  errand." 
Then  with  modest  demeanor  made  answer  the 

notary  public  : — 
"  Gossip  enough  have  I  heard,  in  sooth,  yet  am 

never  the  wiser  ; 
And  what  their  errand  may  be  I  know  not  better 

than  others. 
Yet  am  I  not  of  those  who  imagine  some  evil 

intention 
Brings  them  here,  for  we  are  at  peace  ;  and  why 

then  molest  us  ?  " 
"God's  name!"    shouted  the  hasty  and  some- 
what irascible  blacksmith  ; 
' '  Must  we  in  all  things  look  for  the  how,  and  the 

why,  and  the  wherefore  ? 
Daily  injustice  is  done,  and  might  is  the  right  of 

the  strongest ! ' ' 
But,  without  heeding  his  warmth,  continued  the 

notary  public  :  — 
<(  Man  is  unjust,  but  God  is  just ;   and  finally 

justice 


EVANGELINE.  2J 

Triumphs  ;    and  well  I  remember  a  story,  that 

often  consoled  me, 
When  as  a  captive  I  lay  in  the  old  French  fort  at 

Port  Royal." 
This  was  the  old  man's  favorite  tale,  and  he  loved 

to  repeat  it 
When  his  neighbors  complained  that  any  injus- 
tice was  done  them. 
"Once  in  an  ancient  cit)7,  whose  name   I   no 

longer  remember, 
Raised  aloft  on  a  column,   a  brazen  statue  of 

Justice 
Stood  in  the  public  square,  upholding  the  scales 

in  its  left  hand, 
And  in  its  right  a  sword,  as  an  emblem  that  jus- 
tice presided 
Over  the  laws  of  the  land,  and  the  hearts  and 

homes  of  the  people. 
Even  the  birds  had  built  their  nests  in  the  scales 

of  the  balance, 
Having  no  fear  of  the  sword  that  flashed  in  the 

sunshine  above  them. 
But  in  the  course  of  time  the  laws  of  the  land 

were  corrupted ; 
Might  took  the  place  of  right,  and  the  weak  were 

oppressed,  and  the  mighty 
Ruled  with  an  iron  rod.     Then  it  chanced  in  a 

nobleman's  palace 
That  a  necklace  of  pearls  was  lost,  and  erelong  a 

suspicion 
Fell  on  an  orphan  girl  who  lived  as  maid  in  the 

household. 
She,  after  form  of  trial  condemned  to  die  on  the 

scaffold, 
Patiently  met  her  doom  at  the  foot  of  the  statue 

of  Justice. 
As  to  her  Father  in  heaven  her  innocent  spirit 

ascended, 
Lo  !  o'er  the  city  a  tempest  rose  ;  and  the  bolts  of 

the  thunder 


28  EVANGELINE. 

Smote  the  statue  of  bronze,  and  hurled  in  wrath 

from  its  left  hand 
Down  on  the  pavement  below  the  clattering  scales 

of  the  balance,    ■ 
*  And  in  the  hollow  thereof  was  found  the  nest  of 

a  magpie, 
Into  whose  clay-built  walls  the  necklace  of  pearls 

was  inwoven." 
Silenced,  but  not  convinced,  when  the  story  was 

ended,  the  blacksmith 
Stood  like  a  man  who  fain  would  speak,  but 

findeth  no  language  ; 
All  his  thoughts  were  congealed  into  lines  on  his 

face,  as  the  vapors 
Freeze  in  fantastic  shapes  on  the  window-panes  in 

the  winter. 


Then  Evangeline  lighted  the  brazen  lamp  on 

the  table, 
Filled,  till  it  overflowed,  the  pewter  tankard  with 

home-brewed 
Nut-brown  ale,  that  was  famed  for  its  strength  in 

the  village  of  Grand-Pre  ; 
While  from  his  pocket  the  notary  drew  his  papers 

and  inkhorn, 
Wrote  with  a  steady  hand  the  date  and  the  age  of 

the  parties, 
Naming  the  dower  of  the  bride  in  flocks  of  sheep 

and  in  cattle. 
Orderly  all  things  proceeded,  and  duly  and  well 

were  completed, 
And  the  great  seal  of  the  law  was  set  like  a  sun 

on  the  margin. 
Then  from  his  leathern  pouch  the  farmer  threw  on 

the  table 
Three  times  the  old  man's  fee  in  solid  pieces  of 

silver ; 
And  the  notary  rising,  and  blessing  the  bride  and 

the  bridegroom. 


EVANGELINE. 


29 


Lifted  aloft  the  tankard  of  ale  and  drank  to  their 

welfare. 
Wiping  the  foam  from  his  lips,  he  solemnly  bowed 

and  departed, 
While  in  silence  the  others  sat  and  mused  by  the 

fireside, 
Till  Evangeline  brought  the  draught-board  out 

of  its  corner. 


"  In  friendly  contention  the  old  men 
Laughed  at  each  lucky  hit,  or  unsuccessful  manceuvre." 


Soon  was  the  game  begun.  In  friendly  contention 

the  old  men 
Laughed    at    each    lucky    hit,   or    unsuccessful 

manceuvre, 
Laughed  when  a  man  was  crowned,  or  a  breach 

was  made  in  the  king-row. 
Meanwhile   apart,    in   the  twilight   gloom   of  a 

window's  embrasure, 
Sat  the  lovers,  and  whispered  together,  beholding 

the  moon  rise 


30  EVANGELINE, 

Over  the  pallid  sea  and  the  silvery  mist  of  the 

meadows. 
t  Silently  one  by  one,  in  the  infinite  meadows  of 

heaven, 
Blossomed  the  lovely  stars,  the  forget-me-nots  of 

the  angels. 


Thus  passed  the  evening  away.  Anon  the  bell 

from  the  belfry 
Rang  out  the  hour  of  nine,  the  village  curfew, 

and  straightway 
Rose  the  guests  and  departed;  and  silence  reigned 

in  the  household. 
Many  a  farewell  word  and  sweet  good  night  on 

the  door-step 
Lingered  long  in  Evangeline's  heart,  and  filled  it 

with  gladness. 
Carefully    then  were  covered  the   embers    that 

glowed  on  the  hearth-stone  ; 
And  on  the  oaken  stairs  resounded  the  tread  of 

the  farmer. 
Soon  with  a  soundless  step  the  foot  of  Evangeline 

followed. 
Up  the  staircase  moved  a  luminous  space  in  the 

darkness, 
Lighted  less  by  the  lamp  than  the  shining  face  of 

the  maiden. 
Silent  she  passed  the  hall,  and  entered  the  door 

of  her  chamber. 
Simple  that  chamber  was,  with  its  curtains  of 

white,  and  its  clothes-press 
Ample  and  high,  on  whose  spacious  shelves  were 

carefully  folded 
Linen  and  woollen  stuffs,  by  the  hand  of  Evange- 
line woven. 
This  was  the  precious  dower  she  would  bring  to 

her  husband  in  marriage, 
Better  than  flocks  and  herds,  being  proofs  of  her 

skill  as  a  housewife. 


EVANGELINE.  %\ 

Soon  she  extinguished  her  lamp,  for  the  mellow 

ana  radiant  moonlight 
Streamed  through  the  window,  and  lighted  the 

room,  till  the  heart  of  the  maiden 
Swelled  and  obeyed  its  power,  like  the  tremulous 

tides  of  the  ocean. 
Ah  !  she  was  fair,  exceeding  fair  to  behold,  as  she 

stood  with 
Naked  snow-white  feet  on  the  gleaming  floor  of 

her  chamber  ! 
Little  she  dreamed  that  below,  among  the  trees  of 

the  orchard, 
Waited  her  lover  and  watched  for  the  gleam  of 

her  lamp  and  her  shadow. 
Yet  were  her  thoughts  of  him,  and  at  times  a 

feeling  of  sadness 
Passed  o'er  her  soul,  as  the  sailing  shade  of  clouds 

in  the  moonlight 
Flitted  across  the  floor  and  darkened  the  room 

for  a  moment. 
And,   as  she  gazed  from  the  window,  she  saw 

serenely  the  moon  pass 
Forth  from  the  folds  of  a  cloud,  and  one  star  fol- 
low her  footsteps, 
As  out  of  Abraham's  tent  young  Ishmael  wan- 
dered with  Hagar  ! 


EVANGELINE. 


LEASANTLY  rose  next  mom    the 
sun  on  the  village  of  Grand- Pre. 
Pleasantly  gleamed  in  the  soft,  sweet 
air  the  Basin  of  Minas, 
Where  the  ships,  with  their   wavering 

shadows,  were  riding  at  anchor. 
Life  had  long  been  astir  in  the  village, 

and  clamorous  labor 
Knocked  with  its  hundred  hands  at  the 

golden  gates  of  the  morning. 
Now  from  the  country  around,  from  the 

farms  and  neighboring  hamlets, 
Came  in  their  holiday  dresses  the  blithe 
Acadian  peasants. 
Many  a  glad  good  morrow  and  jocund  laugh  from 

the  young  folk 
Made  the  bright  air  brighter,    as   up   from   the 

numerous  meadows, 
Where  no  path  could  be  seen  but  the  track  of 

wheels  in  the  greensward, 
Group  after  group  appeared,  and  joined,  or  passed 

on  the  highway. 
I,ong  ere  noon,  in  the  village  all  sounds  of  labor 

were  silenced. 
Thronged  were  the  streets  with  people  ;  and  noisy 

groups  at  the  house-doors 
Sat  in  the  cheerful  sun,  and  rejoiced  and  gossiped 

together, 
Every  house  was  an  inn.  where  all  were  welcomed 
and  feasted  ; 


"  From  the  farms  and  the  neighboring  hamlets. 
Came  in  their  holiday, dresses  the  blithe  Acadian  peasants." 


a  o 


EVANGELINE.  33 

For  with  this  simple  people,  who  lived  like  broth- 
ers together, 

All  things  were  held  in  common,  and  what  one 
had  was  another's. 

Yet  under  Benedict's  roof  hospitality  seemed  more 
abundant : 

For  Evangeline  stood  among  the  guests  of  her 
father  ; 

Bright  was  her  face  with  smiles,  and  words  of 
welcome  and  gladness 

Fell  from  her  beautiful  lips,  and  blessed  the  cup 
as  she  gave  it. 


Under  the  open  sky,  in  the  odoious  air  of  the 

orchard, 
Bending  with  golden  fruit,  was  spread  the  feast 

of  betrothal. 
There  in  the  shade  of  the  porch  were  the  priest 

and  the  notary  seated  ; 
There  good  Benedict  sat,  and  sturdy  Basil  the 

blacksmith. 
Not  far  withdrawn  from  these,  by  the  cider-press 

and  the  beehives, 
Michael  the  fiddler  was  placed,  with  the  gayest 

of  hearts  and  of  waistcoats. 
Shadow    and   light   from  the   leaves   alternately 

plaj-ed  on  his  snow-white 
Hair,  as  it  waved  in  the  wind  ;  and  the  jolly  face 

of  the  fiddler 
Glowed  like  a  living   coal  when   the  ashes   are 

blown  from  the  embers. 
Gayly  the  old  man  sang  to  the  vibrant  sound  of 

his  fiddle, 
Tous  les  Bourgeois  de   Chart  res,  and  Le  Carilloi 

de  Dioikerque, 
And  anon  with  his  wooden  shoes  beat  time  to  the 

music. 
Merrily,  merrily  whirled  the  wheels  of  the  dizzy- 
ing dances 


34 


EVANGELINE. 


Under  the  orchard-trees  and  down  the  path  to 
the  meadows  ; 

Old  folk  and  young  together,  and  children  min- 
gled among  them. 

Fairest  of  all  the  maids  was  Evangeline,  Bene- 
dict's daughter  ! 

Noblest  of  all  the  youths  was  Gabriel,  son  of  the 
blacksmith  ! 


So  passed  the  morning  away.     And  lo  !  with  a 
summons  sonorous 


"  Without,  in  the  churchyard. 
Waited  the  women.    They  stood  by  the  graves,  and  hung  on  the 

headstones 
Garlands  of  autumn-leaves  and  evergreens  fresh  from  the  forests. 


Sounded  the  bell  from  its  tower,  and  over  the 

meadows  a  drum  beat. 
Thronged  erelong  was  the  church   with   men. 

Without,  in  the  churchyard, 
Waited  the  women.     They  stood  by  the  graves, 

and  hung  on  the  headstones 


EVANGELINE.  ij 

Garlands  of  autumn  leaves  and  e\  ergreens  fresh 

from  the  forest. 
Then  came  the  guard  from  the  ships,  and  march- 
ing proudly  among  them 
Entered  the  sacred  portal.     With  loud  and  dis- 
sonant clangor 
Echoed  the  sound  of  their  brazen   drums   from 

ceiling  and  casement, — 
Echoed  a  moment  only,  and  slowly  the  ponderous 

portal 
Closed,  and  in  silence  the  crowd  awaited  the  will 

of  the  soldiers. 
Then  uprose  their  commander,  and  spake  from 

the  steps  of  the  altar, 
Holding  aloft  in  his  hands,  with  its  seals,   the 

royal  commission. 
"  You  are  convened  this  day,"  he  said,  "  by  his 

Majesty's  orders. 
Clement  and  kind   has  he  been  ;  but  how  you 

have  answered  his  kindness, 
L,et  your  ®wn  hearts  reply !    To  my  natural  make 

and  my  temper 
Painful  the  task  is  I  do,  which  to  you  I  know 

must  be  grievous. 
Yet  must  I  bow  and  obey,  and  deliver  the  will  of 

our  monarch ; 
Namely,  that  all  your  lands,  and  dwellings,  and 

cattle  of  all  kinds 
Forfeited  be  to  the  crown  ;  and  that  you  your- 
selves from  this  province 
Be  transported  to  other  lands.     God  grant  you 

may  dwell  there 
Ever  as  faithful  subjects,  a  happy  and  peaceable 

people  ! 
Prisoners   now   I    declare  you  ;  for  such  is   his 

Majesty's  pleasure  !  " 
As,  when  the  air  is  serene  in  the  sultry  solstice  of 

summer, 
Suddenly  gathers  a  storm,  and  the  deadly  sling  of 

the  hailstones 


36  EVANGELINE. 

Beats  down  the  farmer's  corn  in  the  field  and 

shatters  his  windows, 
Hiding  the  sun,  and  strewing  the  ground  with 

thatch  from  the  house-roofs, 
Bellowing  fly  the  herds,  and  seek  to  break  their 

enclosures ; 
So  on  the  hearts  of  the  people  descended  the  words 

of  the  speaker. 
Silent  a  moment  they  stood  in  speechless  wonder, 

and  then  rose 
Louder  and  ever  louder  a  wail  of  sorrow  and 

anger, 
And,  by  one  impulse  moved,  they  madly  rushed 

to  the  door- way. 
Vain  was  the  hope  of  escape  ;  and  cries  and  fierce 

imprecations 
Rang  through  the  house  of  prayer  ;  and  high  o'er 

the  heads  of  the  others 
Rose,  with  his  arms  uplifted,  the  figure  of  Basil 

the  blacksmith, 
As,  on  a  stormy  sea,  a   spar  is  tossed    by  the 

billows. 
Flushed  was  his  face  and  distorted  with  passion  ; 

and  wildly  he  shouted, — ■ 
"  Down  with  the  tyrants  of  England  !  we  never 

have  sworn  them  allegiance  ! 
Death  to  these  foreign  soldiers,  who  seize  on  our 

homes  and  our  harvests  ! ' ' 
More  he  fain  would  have  said,  but  the  merciless 

hand  of  a  soldier 
Smote  him  upon  the  mouth,   and  dragged  him 

down  to  the  pavement. 


In  the  midst  of  the  strife  and  tumult  of  angry 

contention, 
L<o  S  the  door  of  the  chancel  opened,  and  Father 

Felician 
Entered,  with   serious   mien,   and   ascended   the 

steps  of  the  altar. 


For  Evangeline  stood  among  the  guests  of  her  father ; 
Bright  was  her  face  with  smiles." 


EVANGELINE.  37 

Raising  his  reverend  hand,  with  a  gesture  he 

awed  into  silence 
All  the  clamorous  throng  ;    and  thus  he  spake 

to  his  people ; 
Deep  were  his  tones   and   solemn  ;    in   accents 

measured  and  mournful 
Spake  he,  as,  after  the  tocsin's  alarum,  distinctly 

the  clock  strikes. 
"What  is  this  that  ye  do,  my  children?    what 

madness  has  seized  you? 
Forty  years  of  my  life  have  I  labored  among  you, 

and  taught  you, 
Not  in  word  alone,  but  in   deed,  to  love  one 

another  ! 
Is  this  the  fruit  of  my  toils,  of  my  vigils  and 

prayers  and  privations  ? 
Have  you  so  soon  forgotten  all  lessons  of  love  and 

forgiveness  ? 
This   is  the  house  of  the  Prince  of  Peace,  and 

would  you  profane  it 
Thus  with  violent  deeds  and  hearts  overflowing 

with  hatred  ? 
IyO  !  where  the  crucified  Christ  from  his  cross  is 

gazing  upon  you  ! 
See  !  in  those  sorrowful  eyes  what  meekness  and 

holy  compassion  ! 
Hark  !  how  those  lips  still  repeat  the  prayer,  'O 

Father,  forgive  them  ! ' 
L,et  us  repeat  that  prayer  in  the  hour  when  the 

wicked  assail  us, 
L,et  us  repeat  it  now,  and  say,  '  O  Father,  forgive 

them  ! '  " 
Few  were  his  words  of  rebuke,  but  deep  in  the 

hearts  of  his  people 
Sank  they,  and  sobs  of  contrition  succeeded  the 

passionate  outbreak, 
And   they   repeated   his    prayer,   and   said,    "O 

Father,  forgive  them  ! ' ' 


33  EVANGELINE. 

Then  came  the  evening  service.     The  tapers 

gleamed  from  the  altar. 
Fervent  and  deep  was  the  voice  of  the  priest,  and 

the  people  responded, 
Not  with  their  lips  alone,  but  their  hearts  ;  and 

the  Ave  Maria 
Sang   they,   and  fell  on  their   knees,   and   their 

souls,  with  devotion  translated, 
Rose  on  the  ardor  of  prayer,  like  Klijah  ascending 

to  heaven. 


Meanwhile  had  spread  in  the  village  the  tidings 
of  ill,  and  on  all  sides 

Wandered,  wailing,  from  house  to  house  the 
women  and  children. 

Long  at  her  father's  door  Kvangeline  stood,  with 
her  right  hand 

Shielding  her  eyes  from  the  level  rays  of  the  sun, 
that,  descending, 

Lighted  the  village  street  with  mysterious  splen- 
dor, and  roofed  each 

Peasant's  cottage  with  golden  thatch,  and  em- 
blazoned its  windows. 

Long  within  had  been  spread  the  snow-white  cloth 
on  the  table ; 

There  stood  the  wheaten  loaf,  and  the  honey 
fragrant  with  wild-flowers  ; 

There  stood  the  tankard  of  ale  and  the  cheese 
fresh  brought  from  the  dairy, 

And,  at  the  head  of  the  board,  the  great  arm-chair 
of  the  farmer. 

Thus  did  Evangeline  wait  at  her  father's  door,  as 
the  sunset 

Threw  the  long  shadows  of  trees  o'er  the  broad 
ambrosial  meadows. 

Ah  !  on  her  spirit  within  a  deeper  shadow  had 
fallen, 

And  from  the  fields  of  her  soul  a  fragrance  celes- 
tial ascended,— 


EVANGELINE.  39 

Charity,  meekness,  love,  and  hope,  and  forgive- 
ness, and  patience  ! 

Then,  all-forgetful  of  self,  she  wandered  into  the 
village, 

Cheering  with  looks  and  words  the  disconsolate 

hearts  of  the  women, 
As  o'er  the  darkening  fields  with  lingering  steps 

they  departed, 
Urged  by  their  household  cares,  and  the  weary 

feet  of  their  children. 
Down   sank   the   great   red  sun,  and  in  golden, 

glimmering  vapors 
Veiled   the   light   of  his   face,  like   the  Prophet 

descending  from  Sinai. 
Sweetly  over  the  village  the  bell  of  the  Angelus 

sounded. 


Meanwhile,   amid   the   gloom,   by   the  church 

Evangeline  lingered. 
All  was  silent  within  ;  and  in  vain  at  the  door 

and  the  windows 
Stood  she,  and  listened  and  looked,  till,  overcome 

by  emotion, 
' '  Gabriel  ! ' '  cried  she  aloud  with  tremulous  voice; 

but  no  answer 
Came   from   the   graves   of   the    dead,    nor    the 

gloomier  grave  of  the  living. 
Slowly  at  length  she  returned  to  the  tenantless 

house  of  her  father. 
Smouldered  the  fire  on  the  hearth,  on  the  board 

stood  the  supper  untasted, 
Kmpty  and  drear  was  each  room,  and  haunted 

with  phantoms  of  terror. 
Sadly  echoed  her  step  on  the  stair  and  the  floor  of 

her  chamber. 
In  the  dead  of  the  night  she  heard  the  whispering 

rain  fall 
I^oud  on  the  withered  leaves  of  the  sycamore-tree 

by  the  window. 


40 


EVANGELINE. 


Keenly  the  lightning  flashed  ;  and  the  voice  of 

the  echoing  thunder 
Told  her  that  God  was  in  heaven,  and  governed 

the  world  he  created  ! 
Then  she  remembered  the  tale  she  had  heard  of 

the  justice  of  Heaven  ; 
Soothed  was  her  troubled  soul,  and  she  peacefully 

slumbered  till  morning. 


**  "». 

,    V"^>'     "'"J 

- 

. 

j-jJ^mJ.  '  JBt*  :   ™"'*'T  '< '" 

Egjjr: 

jjBF^ft^^B  ■ 

J^P«P 

'M 

■ 

.  '  ffiR 

n^^H^K. 

•  CHM$  ■ 

| 

.-;.,,_■             :     ■'..-:■■•;:■■>.  :    - 

.' 

v°^m 

i^t'n-'' 

»|§1|  V     ;  T/tB»v 

'■'  -  '< 

5MBI- 

"*W 

» 

...::*jA,  timS^'tbi.'^.   ^       .*■■    .»:.^ 

.■j 

'*  And  in  the  flickering  light  beheld  the  face  of  the  oid  man, 

Haggard  and  hollow  and  wan,  and  without  either  thought  or  emotion. 


n  And  that  yon  yourselves  t rotn  this  prpvjnee  be  transported  to  other 
lands." 


'-....  *  0 


EVANGELINE. 


41 


V. 


OUR  times  the  sun  had  risen  and  set ; 
and  now  on  the  fifth  day 
Cheerily  called  the  cock  to  the  sleep- 
ing maids  of  the  farm-house. 
Soon  o'er  the  yellow  fields,  in  silent 
and  mournful  procession, 
Came  from  the  neighboring  hamlets  and 

farms  the  Acadian  women, 
Driving  in  ponderous  wains  their  house- 
hold goods  to  the  sea-shore, 
Pausing  and  looking  back  to  gaze  once 
more  on  their  dwellings, 
Ere  they  were  shut  from  sight  by  the  winding 

road  and  the  woodland. 
Close  at  their  sides  their  children  ran,  and  urged 

on  the  oxen, 
While   iii   their   little   hands  they  clasped  some 
fragments  of  playthings. 

Thus  to  the  Gaspereau's  mouth  they  hurried  ; 

and  there  on  the  sea-beach 
Piled  in  confusion  lay  the  household  goods  of  the 

peasants. 
All  clay  long  between  the  shore  and  the  ships  did 

the  boats  ply  ; 
All  day  long  the  wains  came  laboring  down  from 

the  village. 


42  EVANGELINE. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  when  the  sun  was  near  tc 
his  setting, 

Echoed  far  o'er  the  fields  came  the  roll  of  drums 
from  the  churchyard. 

Thither  the  women  and  children  thronged.  On 
a  sudden  the  church-doors 

Opened,  and  forth  came  the  guard,  and  marching 
in  gloomy  procession 

Followed  the  long-imprisoned,  but  patient,  Aca- 
dian farmers. 

Even  as  pilgrims,  who  journey  afar  from  their 
homes  and  their  country, 

Sing  as  they  go,  and  in  singing  forget  they  are 
weary  and  wayworn, 

So  with  songs  on  their  lips  the  Acadian  peasants 
descended 

Down  from  the  church  to  the  shore,  amid  their 
wives  and  their  daughters. 

Foremost  the  young  men  came  ;  and,  raising  to- 
gether their  voices, 

Sang  they  with  tremulous  lips  a  chant  of  the 
Catholic  Missions  : — 

' '  Sacred  heart  of  the  Saviour  !  O  inexhaustible 
fountain  ! 

Fill  our  hearts  this  day  with  strength  and  sub- 
mission and  patience  ! ' ' 

Then  the  old  men  as  they  marched,  and  the 
women  that  stood  by  the  wayside 

Joined  in  the  sacred  psalm,  and  the  birds  in  the 
sunshine  above  them 

Mingled  their  notes  therewith,  like  voices  of 
spirits  departed. 


Half-way  down  to  the  shore  Evangeline  waited 

in  silence, 
Not  overcome  with  grief,  but  strong  in  the  hour 

of  affliction, — 
Calmly  and  sadly  she  waited,  until  the  procession 

approached  her, 


EVANGELINE.  43 

A.nd  she  beheld  the  face   of  Gabriel   pale   with 

emotion. 
Tears  then  filled  her  eyes,  and,  eagerly  running 

to  meet  him, 
Clasped  she  his  hands,  and  laid  her  head  on  his 

shoulder,  and  whispered, — 
' '  Gabriel  !  be  of  good  cheer  !  for  if  we  love  one 

another, 
Nothing,  in  truth,  can  harm  us,  whatever  mis- 
chances may  happen  ! ' ' 
Smiling  she  spake  these  words  ;  then  suddenly 

paused,  for  her  father 
Saw  she  slowly  advancing.     Alas  !  how  changed 

was  his  aspect  ! 
Gone  was  the  glow  from  his  cheek,  and  the  fire 

from  his  eye,  and  his  footstep 
Heavier  seemed  with  the  weight  of  the   heavy 

heart  in  his  bosom. 
But  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh,  she  clasped  his  neck 

and  embraced  him, 
Speaking  words  of  endearment  where  words  of 

comfort  availed  not. 
Thus  to  the  Gaspereau's  mouth  moved  on  that 

mournful  procession. 


There  disorder  prevailed,  and  the  tumult  and 
stir  of  embarking. 

Busily  plied  the  freighted  boats  ;  and  in  the  con- 
fusion 

Wives  were  torn  from  their  husbands,  and  moth- 
ers, too  late,  saw  their  children 

I^eft  on  the  land,  extending  their  arms,  with 
wildest  entreaties. 

So  unto  separate  ships  were  Basil  and  Gabriel 
carried, 

While  in  dispair  on  the  shore  Evangeline  stood 
with  her  father. 

Half  the  task  was  not  done  when  the  sun  went 
down,  and  the  twilight 


44  EVANGELINE. 

Deepened  and  darkened  around  ;  and  in  haste  the 

refluent  ocean 
Fled  away  from  the  shore,  and  left  the  line  of  the 

sand-beach 
Covered  with  waifs  of  the  tide,  with  kelp  and  the 

slippery  sea-weed. 
Farther  back  in  the  midst  of  the  household  goods 

and  the  wagons, 
Like  to  a  gypsy  camp,    or  a  leaguer    after  a 

battle, 
All  escape  cut  off  by  the  sea,  and  the  sentinels 

near  them, 
Lay  encamped  for  the  night  the  houseless  Aca- 
dian farmers. 
Back  to  its  nethermost  caves  retreated  the  bellow- 
ing ocean, 
Dragging  adown  the  beach  the  rattling  pebbles, 

and  leaving 
Inland  and  far  up  the  shore  the  stranded  boats  of 

the  sailors. 
Then,  as  the  night  descended,  the  herds  returned 

from  their  pastures  ; 
Sweet  was  the  moist  still  air  with  the  odor  of  milk 

from  their  udders  ; 
Lowing  they  waited,  and  long,  at  the  well-known 

bars  of  the  farm-yard, — 
Waited  and  looked  in  vain  for  the  voice  and  the 

hand  of  the  milkmaid. 
Silence  reigned  in  the  streets  ;  from  the  church 

no  Angelus  sounded, 
Rose  no  smoke  from  the  roofs,  and  gleamed  no 

lights  from  the  windows. 


But  on  the  shores  meanwhile  the  evening  fires 

had  been  kindled, 
Built  of  drift-wood  thrown  on  the  sands   from 

wrecks  in  the  tempest. 
Round  them  shapes  of  gloom  and  sorrowful  faces 

were  gathered, 


EVANGELINE.  45 

Voices  of  women  were  heard,  and  of  men,  and  the 

crying  of  children. 
Onward  from  fire  to  fire,  as  from  hearth  to  hearth 

in  his  parish, 
Wandered  the  faithful  priest,  consoling  and  bless- 
ing and  cheering, 
Like  unto  shipwrecked  Paul  on  Melita's  desolate 

sea-shore. 
Thus  he  approached  the  place  where  Evangeline 

sat  with  her  father, 
And  in  the  flickering  light  beheld  the  face  of  the 

old  man, 
Haggard  and  hollow  and  wan,  and  without  either 

thought  or  emotion, 
E'en  as  the  face  of  a  clock  from  which  the  hands 

have  been  taken. 
Vainly  Evangeline  strove  with  words  and  caresses 

to  cheer  him, 
Vainly  offered  him  food  ;  yet  he  moved  not,  he 

looked  not,  he  spake  not, 
But,  with  a  vacant  stare,  ever  gazed  at  the  flick- 
ering fire-light. 
"  Benedicite  ! "  murmured  the  priest;  in  tones  of 

compassion. 
More  he  fain  would  have  said,  but  his  heart  was 

full,  and  his  accents 
Faltered  and  paused  on  his  lips,  as  the  feet  of  a 

child  on  a  threshold, 
Hushed  by  the  scene  he  beholds,  and  the  awful 

presence  of  sorrow. 
Silently,  therefore,  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  head 

of  the  maiden, 
Raising  his  eyes  .full  of  tears  to  the  silent  stars 

that  above  them 
Moved  on  their  way,  unperturbed  by  the  wrongs 

and  sorrows  of  mortals. 
Then  sat  he  down  at  her  side,  and  they  wept 

together  in  silence. 


46 


EVAN&ELlftlL. 


Suddenly  rose  from  the   south  a  light,  as  in 

autumn  the  blood-red 
Moon  climbs  the  crystal  walls  of  heaven,  and  o'er 

the  horizon 
Titan-like    stretches    its    hundred    hands    upon 

mountain  and  meadow, 
Seizing  the  rocks  and  the  rivers,  and  piling  huge 

shadows  together. 


''  Suddenly  rose  from  the  south  a  light,  as  in  autumn  the  blood-red 
Moon  climbs  the  crystal  walls  of  heaven,  and  o'er  the  horizon 
Titan-like  stretches  its  hundred  hands  upon  mountain  and  meadow." 


Broader  and  ever  broader  it  gleamed  on  the  roofs 

of  the  village, 
Gleamed  on  the  sky  and  the  sea,  and  the  ships 

that  lay  in  the  roadstead. 
Columns  of  shining  smoke  uprose,  and  flashes  of 

flame  were 
Thrust  through  their  folds  and  withdrawn,  like 

the  quivering  hands  of  a  martyr. 


EVANGELINE.  47 

Then  as  the  wind  seized  the  gleeds  and  the  burn- 
ing thatch,  and,  uplifting, 

Whirled  them  aloft  through  the  air,  at  once  from 
a  hundred  house-tops 

Started  the  sheeted  smoke  with  flashes  of  flame 
intermingled. 


These  things  beheld  in  dismay  the  crowd  on 

the  shore  and  on  shipboard. 
Speechless  at  first  they  stood,  then  cried  aloud  in 

their  anguish, 
1 '  We  shall  behold  no  more  our  homes  in   the 

village  of  Grand-Pre  !  " 
L,oud  on  a  sudden  the  cocks  began  to  crow  in  the 

farm-yards, 
Thinking   the  day  had  dawned  ;    and  anon  the 

lowing  of  cattle 
Came  on  the  evening  breeze,  by  the  barking  of 

dogs  interrupted. 
Then  rose  a  sound  of  dread,  such  as  startles  the 

sleeping  encampments 
Far  in  the  western  prairies  or  forests  that  skirt 

the  Nebraska, 
When  the  wild  horses  affrighted  sweep  by  with 

the  speed  of  the  whirlwind, 
Or  the  loud  bellowing  herds  of  buffaloes  rush  to 

the  river. 
Such  was  the  sound  that  arose  on  the  night,  as 

the  herds  and  the  horses 
Broke  through  their  folds  and  fences,  and  madly 

rushed  o'er  the  meadows. 

Overwhelmed   with  the  sight,  yet  speechless, 

the  priest  and  the  maiden 
Gazed  on  the  scene  of  terror  that  reddened  and 

widened  before  them  ; 
And  as  they  turned  at  length  to  speak  to  their 

silent  companion. 


48  EVANGELINE. 

Lo !  from  his  seat  he  had  fallen,   and  stretched 

abroad  on  the  sea-shore 
Motionless  lay  his  form,  from  which  the  soul  had 

departed. 
Slowly  the  priest  uplifted  the  lifeless  head,  and 

the  maiden 
Knelt  at  her  father's  side,  and  wailed  aloud  in 

her  terror. 
Then  in  a  swoon  she  sank,  and  lay  with  her  head 

on  his  bosom. 


"  Having  the  glare  of  the  burning  village  for  funeral  torches, 
But  without  bell  or  book,  they  buried  the  farmer  of  Grand-PreY 


Through  the  long  night  she  lay  in  deep,  oblivious 

slumber ; 
And  when  she  woke  from  the  trance,  she  beheld 

a  multitude  near  her. 
Faces  of  friends  she  beheld,  that  were  mournfully 

gazing  upon  her, 
Pallid,  with  tearful   eyes,  and   looks   of  saddest 

compassion. 
Still  the  blaze  of  the  burning  village  illumined  the 

landscape, 
Reddened  the  sky  overhead,  and  gleamed  on  the 

faces  around  her, 


•"  Moony  and  restless  grown,  and  tried  and  troubled,  his  spirit.' 


EVANGELINE. 


49 


And  like  the  day  of  doom  it  seemed  to  her  waver- 
ing senses. 
Then  a  familiar  voice  she  heard,  as  it  said  to  the 

people, — ■ 
"  Let  us  bury  him  here  by   the   sea.     When   a 

happier  season 
Brings  us  again  to  our  homes  from  the  unknown 

land  of  our  exile, 
Then  shall  his  sacred  dust  be  piously  laid  in  the 

churchyard." 
Such  were  the  words  of  the  priest.     And  there  in 

haste  by  the  seaside, 
Having  the  glare  of  the  burning  village  for  funeral 

torches, 
But  without  bell  or  book,  they  buried  the  farmer 

of  Grand-Pre. 
And  as  the  voice  of  the  priest  repeated  the  service 

of  sorrow, 
Lo  !  with  a  mournful  sound,  like  the  voice  of  a 

vast  congregation, 
Solemnly  answered  the  sea,  and  mingled  its  roar 

with  the  dirges. 
'Twas  the  returning  tide,  that  afar  from  the  waste 

of  the  ocean, 
With  the  first  dawn  of  the  day,  came  heaving  and 

hurrying  landward. 
Then  recommenced  once  more  the  stir  and  noise 

of  embarking  ; 
And  with  the  ebb  of  the  tide  the  ships  sailed  out 

of  the  harbor, 
Leaving  behind  them  the  dead  on  the  shore,  and 

the  village  in  ruins. 


5c 


EVANGELINE. 


PART    THE    SECOND. 


1  ANY  a  weary  year  had  passed  since 
the  burning  cf  Grand-Pre, 
When    on     the     falling     tide    the. 

freighted  vessels  departed, 
Bearing  a  nation,  with  all  its  house- 
hold goods,  into  exile, 
Exile  without  an  end,  and  without  an 

example  in  story. 
Far  asunder,  on  separate  coasts,  the 

Acadians  landed  ; 
Scattered  were  they,  like  flakes  of  snow, 
when  the  wind  from  the  northeast 
Strikes  aslant  through   the  fogs  that 
darken  the  Banks  of  Newfoundland. 
Friendless,    homeless,    hopeless,    they   wandered 

from  city  to  city, 
From  the  cold  lakes  of  the  North  to  sultry  South- 
ern savannas-, — 
From  the  bleak  shores  of  the  sea  to  the  lands 

where  the  Father  of  Waters 
Seizes  the  hills  in  his  hands,  and  drags  them  down 

to  the  ocean, 
Deep  in  their  sands  to  bury  the  scattered  bones  of 
the  mammoth. 


EVANGELINE.  51 

Friends  they  sought  and  homes  ;  and  many  de- 
spairing, heart-broken, 
Asked  of  the  earth  but  a  grave,  and  no  longer  a 

friend  nor  a  fireside. 
Written  their  history  stands  on  tablets  of  stone  in 

the  churchyards. 
Long  among  them  was  seen  a  maiden  who  waited 

and  wandered, 
Lowly  and  meek  in  spirit,  and  patiently  suffering 

all  things. 
Fair  was  she  and  young  ;  but,  alas  !  before  her 

extended, 
Dreary  and  vast  and  silent,  the  desert  of  life,  with 

its  pathway 
Marked  by  the  graves  of  those  who  had  sorrowed 

and  suffered  before  her, 
Passions  long  extinguished,  and  hopes  long  dead 

and  abandoned, 
As  the  emigrant's  way  o'er  the  Western  desert  is 

marked  by 
Camp-fires  long  consumed,  and  bones  that  bleach 

in  the  sunshine. 
Something  there  was  in  her  life  incomplete,  im- 
perfect, unfinished  ; 
As  if  a  morning  of  June,  with  all  its  music  and 

sunshine, 
Suddenly  paused  in  the  sky,  and,  fading,  slowly 

descended 
Into   the   east   again,   from   whence   it  late  had 

arisen. 
Sometimes  she  lingered  in  towns,  till,  urged  by 

the  fever  within  her, 
Urged  by   a  restless   longing,   the   hunger   and 

thirst  of  the  spirit, 
She  would  commence  again  her  endless   search 

and  endeavor  ; 
Sometimes  in  churchyards  strayed,  and  gazed  on 

the  crosses  and  tombstones, 
Sat  by  some  nameless  grave,  and  thought  that 

perhaps  in  its  bosom 


52  EVANGELINE 

He  was  already  at  rest,  and  she  longed  to  slumber 

beside  him. 
Sometimes  a  rumor,   a  hearsay,    an  inarticulate 

whisper, 
Came  with  its  airy  hand  to  point  and  beckon  her 

forward. 
Sometimes  she  spake  with  those  who  had  seen 

her  beloved  and;known  him, 
But  it  was  long  ago,  in  some  far-off  place  or  for- 
gotten. 
"  Gabriel  L,ajeunesse  !  "  they  said  ;  "  O  3res  !  we 

have  seen  him. 
He  was  with  Basil  the  blacksmith,  and  both  have 

gone  to  the  prairies  ; 
Coureurs-des-Bois  are  they,  and  famous  hunters 

and  trappers. ' ' 
"  Gabriel  I^ajeunesse  ! ' '  said  others  ;   "  O  yes,  we 

have  seen  him. 
He   is   a   Voyageur   in   the   lowlands  of  L,ouisi~ 

ana." 
(JSeSi  would  they  say,  "  Dear  child  !  why  dream 

and  wait  for  him  longer  ? 
Are  there  not  other  youths  as  fair  as  Gabriel  ? 

others 
Who  have  hearts  as  tender  and  true,  and  spirits 

as  loyal  ? 
Here  is  Baptiste  L,eblanc,  the  notary's  son,  who 

has  loved  thee 
Many  a  tedious  year  ;  come,  give  him  thy  hand 

and  be  happy  ! 
Thou  art  too  fair  to  be  left  to  braid  St.  Catherine's 

tresses." 
Then  would  Bvangeline  answer,  serenely  but  sad- 
ly, "I  cannot ! 
Whither  my  heart  has  gone,  there  follows  my 

hand,  and  not  elsewhere. 
For  when  the  heart  goes  before,  like  a  lamp,  and 

illumines  the  pathway, 
Many  things  are  made  clear,  that  else  lie  hidden 

in  darkness. ' ' 


'••■£■' 


EVANGELINE.  53 

Thereupon  the  priest,  her  friend  and  father-con- 
fessor, 
Said,  with  a  smile,   "O  daughter,  thy  God  thus 

speaketh  within  thee  ! 
Talk  not  of  wasted  affection,  affection  never  was 

wasted  ; 
If  it  enrich  not  the  heart  of  another,  its  waters, 

returning 
Back  to  the  springs,  like  the  rain,  shall  fill  them 

full  of  refreshment ; 
That  which   the   fountain    sends    forth    returns 

again  to  the  fountain. 
Patience  ;  accomplish  thy  labor  ;   accomplish  thy 

work  of  affection  ! 
Sorrow  and  silence  are  strong,  and  patient  endur- 
ance is  godlike. 
Therefore  accomplish  thy  labor  of  love,  till  the 

heart  is  made  godlike, 
Purified,   strengthened,   perfected,    and  rendered 

more  worthy  of  heaven  ! ' ' 
Cheered  by  the  good  man's  words,  Evangeline 

labored  and  waited. 
Still  in  her  heart  she  heard  the  funeral  dirge  of 

the  ocean, 
But  with  its  sound  there  was  mingled  a  voice  that 

whispered,  ' '  Despair  not  !  ' ' 
Thus  did   that  poor  soul   wander   in  want  and 

cheerless  discomfort, 
Bleeding,  barefooted,  over  the  shards  and  thorns 

of  existence. 
Let  me  essay,  O  Muse  !  to  follow  the  wanderer's 

footsteps  ; — 
Not  through  each   devious  path,  each  changeful 

year  of  existence  ; 
But   as  a  traveller   follows  a  streamlet's   course 

through  the  valley  : 
Far  from  its  margin  at  times,  and  seeing  the  gleam 

of  its  water 
Here  and  there,  in  some  open  space,  and  at  inter- 
vals only  ; 


54 


EVANGELINE. 


Then  drawing  nearer  its  banks,  through  sylvan 
glooms  that  conceal  it, 

Though  he  behold  it  not,  he  can  hear  its  continu- 
ous murmur  ; 

Happy,  at  length,  if  he  find  the  spot  where  it 
reaches  an  outlet, 


EVANGELINE, 


55 


II. 


"  T  was  the  month  of  May.     Far  down 

the  Beautiful  River, 
Past  the  Ohio  shore  and  past  the  mouth 
of  the  Wabash, 
Into  the  golden  stream  of  the  broad 
and  swift  Mississippi, 
Floated  a  cumbrous  boat,  that  was  rowed 

by  Acadian  boatmen. 
It  was  a  band  of  exiles  :  a  raft,  as  it  were, 

from  the  shipwrecked 
Nation,    scattered    along   the   coast,    now 

floating  together, 
Bound  by  the  bonds  of  a  common  belief 
and  a  common  misfortune  ; 
Men  and  women  and  children,  who,  guided  by 

hope  or  by  hearsay, 
Sought  for  their  kith  and  their  kin  among  the 

few-acred  farmers 
On  the  Acadian  coast,   and  the  prairies  of  fair 

Opelousas. 
With  them  Evangeline  went,  and  her  guide,  the 

Father  Felician. 
Onward  o'er  sunken  sands,  through  a  wilderness 

sombre  with  forests, 
Day  after  day  they  glided  adown  the  turbulent 
river ; 


56 


EVANGELINE. 


Night  after  night,  by  their  blazing  fires,  encamped 

on  its  borders. 
Now    through    rushing    chutes,    among     green 

islands,  where  plumelike 
Cotton-trees  nodded  their  shadowy  crests,  they 

swept  with  the  current, 


^«3§gg£^?£sSigpJ 


"  Into  the  golden  stream  cf  the  broad  and  swift  Mississippi 
Floated  a  cumbrous  boat,  that  was  rowed  by  Aeadian  boatmen." 


Then  emerged  into  broad  lagoons,  where  silvery 

sand-bars 
Lay  in  the  stream,  and  along  the  wimpling  waves 

of  their  margin, 
Shining  with  snow-white  plumes,  large  flocks  of 

pelicans  waded. 
I^evel  the  landscape  grew,  and  along  the  shores 

of  the  river, 
Shaded  by  china-trees,  in  the  midst  of  luxuriant 

gardens, 
Stood  the  houses  of  planters,  with  negro-cabins 

and  dove-cots. 
They  were  approaching  the  region  where  reigns 

perpetual  summer, 


HI    ■- 

C    J 


3  JS 
O  <U 
5    •£> 


O   « 


EVANGELINE. 


57 


Now  through  rushing  chutes,  among  green  islands,  where  plume-like 
Cotton-trees  nodded   their  shadowy  crests,   they  swept  with  the 
current-" 


58  EVANGELINE. 

"Where   through   the    Golden  Coast,  and  groves 

of  orange  and  citron, 
Sweeps  with   majestic  curve  the  river  away  to 

the  eastward. 
They,  too,  swerved  from  their  course;  and,  enter- 
ing the  Bayou  of  Plaquemine, 
Soon  were  lost  in  a  maze  of  sluggish  and  devious 

waters, 
Which,  like  a  network  of  steel,  extended  in  every 

direction. 
Over  their  heads    the    towering    and    tenebrous 

boughs  of  the  cypress 
Met  in  a   dusky   arch,    and   trailing   mosses   in 

mid-air 
Waved  like  banners  that  hang  on  the  walls  of 

ancient  cathedrals. 
Deathlike  the  silence  seemed,  and  unbroken,  save 

by  the  herons 
Home  to  their  roosts  in  the  cedar-trees  returning 

at  sunset, 
Or  by  the  owl,   as    he  greeted  the    moon  with 

demoniac  laughter. 
Lovely   the    moonlight  was   as   it   glanced   and 

gleamed  on  the  water, 
Gleamed  on  the  columns  of  cypress  and  cedar 

sustaining  the  arches, 
Down   through   whose  broken   vaults   it  fell   as 

through  chinks  in  a  ruin. 
Dreamlike,  and  indistinct,  and  strange  were  all 

things  around  them  ; 
And  o'er  their  spirits  there   came  a  feeling  of 

wonder  and  sadness, — 
Strange  forebodings  of  ill,  unseen  and  that  cannot 

be  compassed. 
As,  at  the  tramp  of  a  horse's  hoof  on   the   turf 

of  the  prairies, 
Far    in    advance    are  closed   the   leaves   of  the 

shrinking  mimosa, 
So,  at  the  hoof-beats  of  fate,  with  sad  forebodings 

of  evil, 


EVANGELINE. 


59 


Shrinks  and  closes  the  heart,  ere  the  stroke  of 
doom  has  attained  it. 


"  Then  in  his  place,  on  the  prow  of  the  boat,  rose  one  of  the  oarsmen, 
And,  as  a  signal  sound,  if  others  like  them  pcradvemure, 
Sailed  on  those  gloomy  and  midnight  streams,  blew  a  blast  on  his 
bugle." 


But  Evangeline's  heart  was  sustained  by  a  vision, 
that  faintly 


60  EVANGELINE. 

Floated  before  her  eyes,  and  beckoned  her  on 
through  the  moonlight. 

It  was  the  thought  of  her  brain  that  assumed 
the  shape  of  a  phantom. 

Through  those  shadowy  aisles  had  Gabriel  wan- 
dered before  her, 

And  every  stroke  of  the  oar  now  brought  him 
nearer  and  nearer. 


Then  in  his  place,   at  the  prow  of  the  boat, 

rose  one  of  the  oarsmen, 
And,  as  a  signal  sound,  if  others  like  them  per- 

adventure 
Sailed  on  those  gloomy  and  midnight  streams, 

blew  a  blast  on  his  bugle. 
Wild  through  the  dark  colonnades  and  corridors 

leafy  the  blast  rang, 
Breaking  the  seal  of  silence,  and  giving  tongues 

to  the  forest. 
Soundless  above  them  the  banners  of  moss  just 

stirred  to  the  music. 
Multitudinous   echoes   awoke   and    died    in    the 

distance, 
Over  the  watery  floor,  and  beneath  the  reverberant 

branches  ; 
But  not  a  voice  replied  ;    no  answer  came  from 

the  darkness ; 
And,  when  the  echoes  had  ceased,  like  a  sense 

of  pain  was  the  silence. 
Then  Kvangeline  slept  ;  but  the  boatmen  rowed 

through  the  midnight, 
Silent  at  times,  then  singing  familiar  Canadian 

boat-songs, 
Such  as  they  sang  of  old  on  their  own  Acadian 

rivers, 
And  through  the  night  were    heard  the  myste- 
rious sounds  of  the  desert, 
Far  off, — indistinct,  —  as  of  wave  or  wind  in 

the  forest, 


EVANGELINE. 


61 


Mixed  with  the  whoop  of  the  crane  and  the  roar 
of  the  grim  alligator. 

Thus  ere  another  noon  they  emerged  from  the 
shades  ;  and  before  them 
Lay,  in  the  golden  sun,  the.  lakes  of  the  Atcha- 
falaya. 


"  Resplendent  in  beauty,  the  lotus 
Lifted  her  golden  crown  above  the  heads  of  the  boatmen." 

Water-lilies   in    myriads    rocked   on    the    slight 

undulations 
Made  by  the  passing  oars,  and,  resplendent  in 

beauty,  the  lotus 
Lifted  her  golden  crown  above  the  heads  of  the 

boatmen. 


62  EVANGELINE. 

Faint  was   the   air  with  the  odorous  breath  of 

magnolia  blossoms, 
And  with   the   heat  of  noon ;    and   numberless 

sylvan  islands, 
Fragrant  and  thickly  embowered  with  blossoming 

hedges  of  roses, 
Near  to  whose  shores  they  glided  along,  invited 

to  slumber. 
Soon  by  the  fairest  of  these  their  weary  oars  were 

suspended. 
Under  the  boughs  of  Wachita  willows,  that  grew 

by  the  margin, 
Safely   their  boat  was  moored  ;    and    scattered 

about  on  the  greensward, 
Tired  with  their  midnight  toil,  the  weary  travellers 

slumbered. 
Over  them  vast  and  high  extended  the  cope  of 

a  cedar. 
Swinging  from  its  great  arms,  the  trumpet-flower 

and  the  grape-vine 
Hung  their  ladder  of  ropes  aloft  like  the  ladder 

of  Jacob, 
On  whose  pendulous  stairs  the  angels  ascending, 

descending, 
Were  the  swift  humming-birds,  that  flitted  from 

blossom  to  blossom. 
Such   was  the  vision    Bvangeline    saw   as    she 

slumbered  beneath  it. 
Filled   was  her  heart  with  love,  and   the  dawn 

of  an  opening  heaven 
Lighted    her   soul   in   sleep  with   the    glory   of 

regions  celestial. 


Nearer  and  ever  nearer,  among  the  number- 
less islands, 

Darted  a  light,  swift  boat,  that  sped  away  o'er 
the  water, 

Urged  on  its  course  by  the  sinewy  arms  of  hunters 
and  trappers. 


EVANGELINE.  63 

Northward  its  prow  was  turned,  to  the  land  of 

the  bison  and  beaver. 
A.t    the    helm    sat   a   youth,    with    countenance 

thoughtful  and  care-worn. 
Dark  and  neglected  locks  overshadowed  his  brow, 

and  a  sadness 
Somewhat    beyond   his   years   on    his    face   was 

legibly  written. 
Gabriel  was  it,  who,  weary  with  waiting,  unhappy 

and  restless, 
Sought  in  the  Western  wilds  oblivion  of  self  and 

of  sorrow. 
Swiftly  they  glided  along,  close  under  the  lee  of 

the  island, 
But  by  the  opposite  bank,  and  behind  a  screen 

of  palmettos, 
So  that  they   saw   not   the  boat,   where  it   lay 

concealed  in  the  willows, 
And  undisturbed  by  the  dash  of  their  oars,  and 

unseen,  were  the  sleepers, 
Angel   of  God  was  there   none  to  awaken  the 

slumbering  maiden. 
Swiftly  they  glided  away,   like  the  shade  of  a 

cloud  on  the  prairie. 
After  the  sound  of  their  oars  on  the  tholes  had 

died  in  the  distance, 
As  from  a  magic  trance  the  sleepers  awoke,  and 

the  maiden 
Said  with  a  sigh  to  the  friendly  priest,  ' '  O  Father 

Felician  ! 
Something  says  in  my  heart  that  near  me  Gabriel 

wanders. 
Is  it  a  foolish  dream,  an  idle  and  vague  super- 
stition ? 
Or  has  an  angel  passed,  and  revealed  the  truth 

to  my  spirit  ?  ' ' 
Then,  with  a  blush,  she  added,   "Alas  for  my 

credulous  fancy  ! 
Unto  ears  like  thine  such  words  as  these  have  no 

meaning." 


64  EVANGELINE.     . 

B'lt  made  answer  the  reverend  man,  and  he  smiled 

as  he  answered, — 
' '  Daughter,  thy  words  are  not  idle  ;  nor  are  they 

to  me  without  meaning. 
Feeling  is   deep  and  still ;   and   the  word  that 

floats  on  the  surface 
Is  as  the  tossing  buoy,  that  betrays  where  the 

anchor  is  hidden. 
Therefore  trust  to  thy  heart,  and  to  what  the 

world  calls  illusions. 
Gabriel  truly  is  near  thee ;  for  not  far  away  to 

the  southward, 
On   the  banks  of  the  Teche,  are  the  towns  of 

St.  Maur  and  St.  Martin. 
There  the  long-wandering  bride  shall  be  given 

again  to  her  bridegroom, 
There  the  long-absent  pastor  regain  his  flock  and 

his  sheepfold. 
Beautiful  is  the  land,  with  its  prairies  and  forests 

of  fruit-trees  ; 
Under  the  feet  a  garden  of  flowers,  and  the  bluest 

of  heavens 
Bending  above,  and  resting  its  dome  on  the  walls 

of  the  forest. 
They  who  dwell  there  have  named  it  the  Eden 

of  Louisiana." 


With  these  words  of   cheer  they   arose   and 

continued  their  journey. 
Softly   the  evening   came.      The   sun   from  the 

western  horizon 
Like  a  magician  extended  his  golden  wand  o'er 

the  landscape  ; 
Twinkling  vapors  arose  ;  and  sky  and  water  and 

forest 
Seemed  all  on  fire  at  the  touch,  and  melted  and 

mingled  together. 
Hanging  between  two  skies,  a  cloud  with  edges 

of  silver, 


'•$:■'•  J 


•-• -jji; 


"  Beautiful  was  the  night  behind  the  black  wall  of  the  forestj 

Tipping  its  summit  with  silver  over  the  moon." 


EVANGELINE.  65 

Floated  the  boat,  with  its  dripping  oars,  on  the 

motionless  water. 
Filled  was  Evangeline's  heart  with  inexpressible 

sweetness. 
Touched  by  the  magic  spell,  the  sacred  fountains 

of  feeling 
Glowed  with  the  light  of  love,  as  the  skies  and 

waters  around  her. 
Then  from  a  neighboring  thicket  the  mocking- 
bird, wildest  of  singers, 
Swinging  aloft  on  a  willow  spray  that  hung  o'er 

the  water, 
Shook  from  his  little  throat  such  floods  of  de- 
lirious music, 
That  the  whole  air  and  the  woods  and  the  waves 

seemed  silent  to  listen. 
Plaintive  at  first  were  the  tones  and  sad  ;  then 

soaring  to  madness 
Seemed   they   to   follow   or   guide   the   revel   of 

frenzied  Bacchantes. 
Single  notes  were  then  heard,  in  sorrowful,  low 

lamentation  ; 
Till,  having  gathered  them  all,  he  flung  them 

abroad  in  derision, 
As  when,  after  a  storm,  a  gust  of  wind  through 

the  tree  tops 
Shakes  down  the  rattling  rain  in  a  crystal  shower 

on  the  branches. 
With   such   a  prelude   as  this,  and   hearts  that 

throbbed  with  emotion, 
Slowly  they  entered  the  Teche,  where  it  flows 

through  the  green  Opelousas, 
And,  through  the  amber  air,  above  the  crest  of 

the  woodland, 
Saw  the  column   of  smoke    that   arose   from   a 

neighboring  dwelling  ; — 
Sounds  of  a  horn  they  hea».d;   and  the  distant 

lowing  of  cattle. 


66 


EVANGELINE. 


III. 


BAR  to  the  bank  cf  the  river,  o'er- 
shadowed  by  oaks,   from  whose 
branches 
Garlands  of  Spanish  moss  and  of 
mystic  mistletoe  flaunted, 
Such  as .  the  Druids  cut  down  with 
golden  hatchets  at  Yule-tide, 
Stood,   secluded  and  still,   the  house  of 
^HP"  the  herdsman.     A  garden 

I?        Girdled  it   round   about  with  a  belt   of 
|  luxuriant  blossoms, 

B         Filling    the    air  with    fragrance.      The 
*  house  itself  was  of  timbers 

Hewn  from  the  cypress-tree,  and  carefully  fitted 

together. 
Large   and  low  was  the  roof;    and  on  slender 

columns  supported, 
Rose-wreathed,  vine-encircled,  a  broad  and  spa- 
cious veranda, 
Haunt   of  the  humming-bird  and   the  bee,   ex- 
tended around  it. 
At  each  end  of  the  house,  amid  the  flowers  of 

the  garden, 
Stationed  the  dove-cots  were,  as  love's  perpetual 

symbol, 
Scenes   of  endless  wooing,   and  endless  conten- 
tions of  rivals. 


EVANGELINE. 


6? 


Silence  reigned  o'er  the  place.   The  line  of  shadow 

and  sunshine 
Ran  near  the  tops  of  the  trees  ;  but  the  house 

itself  was  in  shadow, 
A.nd  from  its  chimney-top,  ascending  and  slowly 

expanding 


■^s»m 


mM 


"  The  house  itself  was  of  timbers 
Hewn  from  the  cypress-tree,  and  carefully  fitted  together." 


Into  the  evening  air,  a  thin  blue  column  of  smoke 

rose. 
In  the  rear  of  the  house,  from  the  garden  gate, 

ran  a  pathway 
Through  the  great  groves  of  oak  to  the  skirts  of 

the  limitless  prairie, 
Into  whose  sea  of  flowers  the  sun  was  slowly 

descending. 
Full  in  his  track  of  light,  like  ships  with  shadowy 

canvas 


68  EVANGELINE. 

Hanging  loose  from  their  spars  in  a  motionless 

calm  in  the  tropics, 
Stood  a  cluster  of  trees,  with  tangled  cordage  of 

grape-vines. 


Just  where  the  woodlands  met  the  flowery  surf 

of  the  prairie, 
Mounted   upon   his  horse,  with  Spanhli  saddle 

and  stirrups, 
Sat  a  herdsman,  arrayed  in  gaiters  and  doublet 

of  deerskin. 
Broad  and  brown  was  the  face  that  from  under 

the  Spanish  sombrero 
Gazed  on  the  peaceful  scene,  with  the  lordly  look 

of  its  master. 
Round  about  him  were  numberless  herds  of  kine, 

that  were  grazing 
Quietly  in  the  meadows,  and  breathing  the  vapory 

freshness 
That  uprose  from  the  river,  and  spread  itself  over 

the  landscape. 
Slowly  lifting  the  horn  that  hung  at  his  side,  and 

expanding 
Fully  his  broad,  deep  chest,  he  blew  a  blast,  that 

resounded 
Wildly  and  sweet  and  far,  through  the  still  damp 

air  of  the  evening. 
Suddenly  out  of  the  grass  the  long  white  horns 

of  the  cattle, 
Rose  like  flakes  of  foam  on  the  adverse  currents 

of  ocean. 
Silent   a    moment    they   gazed,    then    bellowing 

rushed  o'er  the  prairie, 
And  the  whole  mass  became  a  cloud,  a  shade  in 

the  distance. 
Then   as    the    herdsman  turned  to  the  house, 

through  the  gate  of  the  garden 
Saw  he  the  forms  of  the  priest  and  the  maiden 

advancing  to  meet  him. 


EVANGELINE. 


69 


Suddenly   down   from   his    horse  he  sprang  in 

amazement,  and  forward 
Rushed  with   extended   arms   and   exclamations 

of  wonder  ; 
When  they  beheld  his  face,  they  recognized  Basil 

the  blacksmith. 


"  Suddenly  out  of  the  grass  the  long  white  horns  of  the  cattle 
Rose  like  flakes  of  foam  on  the  adverse  currents  of  ocean." 


Hearty  his  welcome  was,  as  he  1ed  his  guests  to 

the  garden. 
There  in  an  arbor  of  roses  with  endless  question 

and  answer 
Gave  they  vent  to  their  hearts,  and  renewed  their 

friendly  embraces, 
Laughing  and  weeping  by  turns,  or  sitting  silent 

and  thoughtful. 


70  EVANGELINE., 

Thoughtful,  for  Gabriel  came  not ;  and  now  dark 

doubts  and  misgivings 
Stole  o'er  the  maiden's  heart ;  and  Basil,  some- 
what embarrassed, 
Broke  the  silence  and  said,  "  If  you  came  by  the 

Atchafalaya, 
How  have  you  nowhere  encountered  my  Gabriel's 

boat  on  the  bayous  ?  " 
Over  Evangeline's  face  at  the  words  of  Basil  a 

shade  passed. 
Tears  came  into  her  eyes,  and  she  said,  with  a 

tremulous  accent, 
"Gone?  is  Gabriel  gone?"  and,  concealing  her 

face  on  his  shoulder, 
All  her  o'erburdened  heart  gave  way,  and  she 

wept  and  lamented. 
Then  the  good  Basil  said, — and  his  voice  grew 

blithe  as  he  said  it, — 
"Be  of  good  cheer,  my  child  ;  it  is  only  to-day 

he  departed. 
Foolish  boy  !  he  has  left  me  alone  with  my  herds 

and  my  horses. 
Moody  and  restless  grown,  and  tried  and  troubled, 

his  spirit 
Could  no  longer  endure  the  calm  of  this  quiet 

existence. 
Thinking  ever  of  thee,  uncertain  and  sorrowful 

ever, 
Ever  silent,  or  speaking   only  of  thee  and   his 

troubles, 
He  at  length  had  become  so  tedious  to  men  and 

to  maidens, 
Tedious  even  to  me,  that  at  length  I  bethought 

me,  and  sent  him 
Unto  the  town  of  Adayes  to  trade  for  mules  with 

the  Spaniards. 
Thence  he  will   follow  the  Indian  trails  to  the 

Ozark  Mountains, 
Hunting  for  furs  in  the  forests,  on  rivers  trapping 

the  beaver. 


EVANGELINE.  71 

Therefore  be  of  good  cheer  ;  we  will  follow  the 

fugitive  lover  ; 
He  is  not  far  011  his  way,   and  the  Fates  and 

the  streams  are  against  him. 
Up  and  away  to-morrow,   and  through  the  red 

dew  of  the  morning 
We  will  follow  him  fast,  and  bring  him  back  to 

his  prison." 


Then  glad  voices  were  heard,  and  up  from  the 

banKS  of  the  river, 
Jiorne  aloft  on  his  comrades'  arms,  came  Michael 

the  lid  tiler. 
Long  under  Basil's  roof  had  he  lived  like  a  god 

on  Olympus, 
Having  no  other  care  than  dispensing  music  to 

mortals. 
Fai   renowned  was  he  for  his  silver  locks  and 

his  fiddle. 
"Long  live  Michael,"  they  cried,    "our  brave 

Acadian  minstrel ! ' ' 
A?,  they  bore  him  aloft  in  triumphal  procession  ; 

and  straightway 
Father  Felician  advanced  with  Evangeline,  greet- 
ing the  old  man 
Kindly   and   oft,   and  recalling   the   past,   while 

Basil,  enraptured, 
HaDed  with  hilarious  joy  hisiold  companions  and 

gossips, 
Laughing  loud  and  long,  and  embracing  mothers 

and  daughters. 
Much  they  marvelled  to  see  the  wealth  of  the 

ci-devant  blacksmith, 
All  his  domains  and  his  herds,  and  his  patriarchal 

demeanor ; 
Much   they  marvelled  to   hear  his  tales  of  the 

soil  and  the  climate, 
And  of  the  prairies,   whose   numberless  herds 

were  Jiis  who  would  take  them ; 


72 


EV ANGELINA 


Each  one  thought  in  his  heart,  that  he,  too, 

would  go  and  do  likewise. 
Thus  they  ascended  the  steps,  and,  crossing  the 

airy  veranda, 


v  Far  renowned  was  he  for  his  stiver  locks  and  his  fiddle. 
'  Long;  live  Michael,'  they  cried,  '  our  brave  Acadian  minstrel !' 


Entered   the  hall  of  the   house,   where  already 

the  supper  of  Basil 
Waited  his  late  return ;    and  they   rested  and 

feasted  together. 


EVANGELINE.  73 

Over  the  joyous   feast    the   sudden   darkness 

descended. 
All  was  silent  without,  and,  illuming  the  land- 
scape with  silver, 
Fair  rose  the  dewy  moon  and  the  myriad  stars  ; 

but  within  doors, 
Brighter  than  these,  shone  the  faces  of  friends 

in  the  glimmering  lamplight. 
Then  from  his  station  aloft,  at  the  head  of  the 

table,  the  herdsman 
Poured  forth  his   heart   and  his  wine   together 

in  endless  profusion. 
Lighting   his   pipe,    that   was   filled   with   sweet 

Natchitoches  tobacco, 
Thus  he  spake  to  his  guests,  who  listened,  and 

smiled  as  they  listened  :— 
"Welcome   once   more,    my   friends,    who   long 

have  been  friendless  and  homeless, 
Welcome   once   more   to   a  home,  that  is  better 

perchance  than  the  old  one  ! 
Here  no  hungry  winter  congeals  our  blood  like 

the  rivers ; 
Here   no  stony  ground   provokes  the  wrath  of 

the  farmer. 
Smoothly  the  ploughshare  runs  through  the  soil, 

as  a  keel  through  the  water. 
All   the  year   round    the   orange-groves   are   in 

blossom  ;  and  grass  grows 
More  in  a  single  night  than  a  whole  Canadian 

summer. 
Here,   too,   numberless  herds'  run  wild  and  un- 
claimed in  the  prairies  ; 
Here,  too,  lands  may  be  had  for  the  asking,  and 

forests  of  timber 
With  a  few  blows  of  the  axe  are  hewn  and  framed 

into  house's. 
After  your  houses  are  built,  and  your  fields  are 

yellow  with  harvests, 
No  King  George  of  England  shall  drive  you  away 

from  your  homesteads, 


74  EVANGELINE. 

Burning  your  dwellings  and  barns,  and  stealing 

your  farms  and  your  cattle." 
Speaking  these  words,  lie  blew  a  wrathful  cloud 

from  his  nostrils, 
While  his  huge,  brown  hand  came  thundering 

down  on  the  table, 
So  that  the  guests  all  started  ;  and  Father  Fe- 

lician,  astounded, 
Suddenly   paused,  with   a   pinch  of  snuff  half- 
way to  his  nostrils. 
But  the  brave  Basil  resumed,  and  his  words  were 

milder  and  gayer : 
"  Only  beware  of  the  fever,  my  friends,  beware 

of  the  fever  ! 
For  it  is  not  like  that  of   our    cold   Acadian 

climate, 
Cured  by  wearing  a   spider   hung   round   one's 

neck  in  a  nutshell ! ' ' 
Then  there  were  voices  heard  at  the  door,  and 

footsteps  approaching 
Sounded   upon   the  stairs  and   the  floor   of  the 

breezy  veranda. 
It  was  the  neighboring  Creoles  and  small  Acadian 

planters, 
Who   had  been   summoned  all   to  the  house  of 

Basil  the  Herdsman. 
Merry  the  meeting  was  of  ancient  comrades  and 

neighbors : 
Friend  clasped  friend  in  his  arms  ;  and  they  who 

before  were  as  strangers, 
Meeting  in  exile,  became  straightway  as  friends 

to  each  other, 
Drawn  by  the  gentle  bond  of  a  common  country 

together. 
But  in  the  neighboring  hall  a  strain  of  music 

proceeding 
From  the  accordant  strings  of  Michael's  melo- 
dious fiddle, 
Broke  up  all  further  speech.    Away,  like  children 

delighted. 


EVANGELINE.  75 

All  things  forgotten  beside,  they  gave  themselves 

to  the  maddening 
Whirl  of  the  dizzy  dance,  as  it  swept  and  swayed 

to  the  music, 
Dreamlike,  with  beaming  eyes  and  the  rush  of 

fluttering  garments. 

Meanwhile,  apart,  at  the  head  of  the  hall,  the 

priest  and  the  herdsman 
Sat,  conversing  together  of  past  and  present  and 

future ; 
While  Evangeline  stood  like  one  entranced,  for 

within  her 
Olden  memories  rose,  and  loud  in  the  midst  of 

the  music 
Heard  she  the  sounds  of  the  sea,  and  an  irre- 
pressible sadness 
Came  o'er  her  heart,  and  unseen  she  stole  forth 

into  the  garden. 
Beautiful  was  the  night.     Behind  the  black  wall 

of  the  forest, 
Tipping  its  summit  with  silver,  arose  the  moon. 

On  the  river 
Fell   here    and   there  through   the    branches    a 

tremulous  gleam  of  the  moonlight, 
Ljke  the  sweet  thoughts  of  love  on  a  darkened 

and  devious  spirit. 
Nearer  and  round  about  her,  the  manifold  flowers 

of  the  garden 
Poured  out  their  souls  in  odors,  that  were  their 

prayers  and  confessions 
Unto  the  night,  as  it  went  its  way,  like  a  silent 

Carthusian. 
Fuller  of  fragrance  than  they,  and  as  heavy  with 

shadows  and  night-dews, 
Hung  the  heart  of  the  maiden.     The  calm  and 

the  ma  ^ical  moonlight 
Seemed  to  inundate  her  soul  with  indefinable 

longings, 


?6  EVANGELINE.      . 

As,  through  the  garden  gate,  and  beneath  the 

shade  of  the  oak-trees, 
Passed  she  along  the  path  to  the  edge  of  the 

measureless  prairie. 
Silent  it  lay,  with  a  silvery  haze  upon  it,  and 

fireflies 
Gleaming   and  floating  away   in    mingled    and 

infinite  numbers. 
Over  her  head  the  stars,  the  thoughts  of  God 

in  the  heavens, 
Shone  on  the  eyes  of  man,  who  had  ceased  to 

marvel  and  worship, 
Save  when  a  blazing  comet  was  seen  on  the  walls 

of  that  temple, 
As  if  a  hand  had   appeared  and  written   upon 

them,  "Upharsin." 
And  the  soul  of  the  maiden,  between  the  stars 

and  the  fireflies, 
Wandered  alone,  and  she  cried,    "O   Gabriel! 

O  my  beloved  ! 
Art  thou  so  near  unto  me,   and  yet   I   cannot 

behold  thee? 
Art  thou  so  near  unto  me,   and  yet  thy  voice 

does  not  reach  me? 
Ah  !  how  often  thy  feet  have  trod  this  path  to 

the  prairie  ! 
Ah  !  how  often  thine  eyes  have  looked  on  the 

woodlands  around  me  ! 
Ah  !  how  often  beneath  this  oak,  returning  from 

labor, 
Thou  hast  lain  down  to  rest,  and  to  dream  of 

me  in  thy  slumbers. 
When  shall   these   eyes  behold,  these  arms  be 

folded  about  thee  ?  " 
Loud  and  sudden  and  near  the  note  of  a  whip- 

poorwill  sounded 
Like  a  flute  in  the  woods  ;  and  anon,  through  the 

neighboring  thickets, 
Farther  and  farther  away  it  floated  and  dropped 

into  silence. 


EVANGELINE.  77 

' '  Patience  ! ' '  whispered  the  oaks  from  oracular 

caverns  of  darkness  ; 
And,  from  the  moonlit  meadow,  a  sigh  respon  Wl, 

"To-morrow ! " 

Bright  rose  the  sun   next  day  ;   and  all  tJ  e? 

flowers  of  the  garden 
Bathed  his  shining  feet  with  their  tears,    ar*<i 

anointed  his  tresses 
With  the  delicious  balm  that  they  bore  in  their 

vases  of  crystal. 
* '  Farewell ! ' '  said  the  priest,  as  he  stood  at  the 

shadowy  threshold  ; 
"  See  that  you  bring  us  the  Prodigal  Son  from 

his  fasting  and  famine, 
And,  too,  the  Foolish  Virgin,  who  slept  when 

the  bridegroom  was  corning." 
"  Farewell !  "  answered  the  maiden,  and,  smiling, 

with  Basil  descended 
Down  to  the  river's  brink,  where  the  boatmen 

already  were  waiting. 
Thus  beginning  their  journey  with  morning,  and 

sunshine,  and  gladness. 
Swiftly  they   followed    the   flight    of   him  who 

was  speeding  before  them, 
Blown  by  the  blast  of  fate  like  a  dead  leaf  over 

the  desert. 
Not  that  day,  nor  the  next,  nor  yet  the  day  that 

succeeded, 
Found  they  trace  of  his  course,  in  lake  or  forest 

or  river, 
Nor,  after  many  days,  had  they  found  him  ;  but 

vague  and  uncertain 
Rumors  alone  were  their  guides  through  a  wild 

and  desolate  country  ; 
Till,  at  the  little  inn  of  the  Spanish  town  of 

Adayes, 
Weary  and  worn,  they  alighted,  and  learned  from 

the  garrulous  landlord, 


78 


EVANGELINE. 


That  on  the  day  before,  with  horses  and  guides 

and  companions, 
Gabriel  left  the  village,   and  took,  the  road  of 

the  prairies. 


EVANGELINE. 


79 


IV. 


AR  in  the  West  there  lies  a   desert 
land,  where  the  mountains 
Lift,  through  perpetual  snows,  their 

lofty  and  luminous  summits. 
Down  from  their  jagged,  deep  ravines, 
where  the  gorge,  like  a  gateway, 
Opens  a  passage  rude   to  the  wheels  of 

the  emigrant's  wagon, 
Westward  the  Oregon  flows  and  the  Wal- 

leway  and  Owyhee. 
Eastward,  with  devious  course,  among  the 
Windriver  Mountains, 
Through  the  Sweet- water  Valley  precipitate  leaps 

the  Nebraska  ; 
And  to  the  south,  from  Fontaine-qui-bout  and  the 

Spanish  sierras, 
Fretted  with  sands  and  rocks,  and  swept  by  the 

wind  of  the  desert, 
Numberless  torrents,  with   ceaseless   sound,  de- 
scend to  the  ocean, 
Ivike  the   great  chords  of  a  harp,  in  loud  and 

solemn  vibrations. 
Spreading  between  these  streams  are   the  won- 
drous, beautiful  prairies, 
Billowy  bays  of  grass  ever  rolling  in  shadow  and 
sunshine. 


8o  EVANGELINE.'    . 

Bright  with  luxuriant  clusters  of  roses  and  purple 

amorphas. 
Over  them  wandered  the  buffalo  herds,  and  the 

elk  and  the  roebuck  ; 
Over  them  wandered  the  wolves,  and  herds  of 

riderless  horses  ; 
Fires  that  blast  and  blight,  and  winds  that  are 

weary  with  travel ; 
Over  them  wander  the  scattered  tribes  of  Ish- 

mael's  children. 
Staining  the  desert  with  blood  ;  and  above  the,-r 

terrible  war-trails 
Circles  and  sails  aloft,  on  pinions  majestic,  the 

vulture, 
Iyike  the  implacable  soul  of  a  chieftain  slaugh- 
tered in  battle, 
By  invisible  stairs  ascending   and    scaling   the 

heavens. 
Here  and  there  rise  smokes  from  the  camps  of 

these  savage  marauders  ; 
Here  and  there  rise  groves  from  the  margins  of 

swift-running  rivers  ; 
And  the  grim,  taciturn  bear,  the  anchorite  monk 

of  the  desert, 
Climbs  down  their  dark  ravines  to  dig  for  roots 

by  the  brookside, 
And  over  all  is  the  sky,  the  clear  and  crystalline 

heaven, 
Ivike  the  protecting  hand  of  God  inverted  above 

them. 


Into  this  wonderful  land,  at  the  base  of  the 
Ozark  Mountains, 

Gabriel  far  had  entered,  with  hunters  and  trap- 
pers behind  him. 

Day  after  day,  with  their  Indian  guides,  the 
maiden  and  Basil 

Followed  his  flying  steps,  and  thought  each  day 
to  o'ertake  him. 


EVANGELINE.  81 

Sometimes  they  saw,  or  thought  they  saw,  the 

smoke  of  his  camp-fire 
Rise  in  the  morning  air  from  the  distant  plain  ; ' 

but  at  nightfall, 
When  they  had  reached  the  place,  they  found 

only  embers  and  ashes. 
And,  though  their  hearts  were  sad  at  times  and 

their  bodies  were  weary, 
Hope  still  guided  them  on,  as  the  magic  Fata 

Morgana 
Showed  them  her  lakes  of  light,  that  retreated 

and  vanished  before  them. 

Once,  as  they  sat  by  their  evening  fire,  there 

silently  entered 
Into   the  little  camp  an  Indian  woman,  whose 

features 
Wore   deep  traces   of  sorrow,    and   patience   as 

great  as  her  sorrow. 
She  was  a  Shawnee  woman  returning  home  to 

hei  people, 
From  the  far-off  hunting-grounds  of  the   cruel 

Camanches, 
Where   her   Canadian   husband,   a    Coureur-des- 

Bois,  had  been  murdered. 
Touched  were  their  hearts  at  her    story,    and 

warmest  and  friendliest  welcome 
Gave  they,  with  words  of  cheer,  and  she  sat  and 

feasted  among  them 
On  the  buffalo-meat  and  the  venison  cooked  on 

the  embers. 
But  when  their  meal  was  done,  and  Basil  and 

all  his  companions, 
Worn  with  the  long  day's  march  and  the  chase 

of  the  deer  and  the  bison, 
Stretched  themselves  on  the  ground,  and   slept 

where  the  quivering  fire-light 
'Flashed  on  their  swarthy  cheeks,  and  their  forms 

wrapped  up  in  their  blankets, 


82  EVANGELINE. 

Then  at  the  door  of  Evangeline's  tent  she  sat 

and  repeated 
Slowly,  with  soft,  low  voice,  and  the  charm  of 

her  Indian  accent, 
All  the  tale  of  her  love,  with  its  pleasures,  and 

pains,  and  reverses. 
Much  Kvangeline  wept  at  the  tale,  and  to  know 

that  another 
Hapless  heart  like  her  own  had  loved  and  had 

been  disappointed. 
Moved  to  the  depths  of  her  soul   by  pity  and 

woman's  compassion, 
Yet  in  her  sorrow  pleased   that   one   who   had 

suffered  was  near  her, 
She  in  turn  related  her  love  and  all  its  disas- 
ters. 
Mute  with  wonder  the  Shawnee  sat,  and  when 

she  had  ended 
Still  was  mute  ;  but  at  length,  as  if  a  mysterious 

horror 
Passed  through  her  brain,   she   spake,   and   re- 
peated the  tale  of  the  Mowis  ; 
Mowis,  the  bridegroom  of  snow,  who  won  and 

wedded  a  maiden, 
But,  when  the  morning  came,  arose  and  passed 

from  the  wigwam, 
Fading  and   melting  away   and   dissolving   into 

the  sunshine, 
Till  she  beheld  him  no  more,  though  she  followed 

far  into  the  forest. 
Then,    in   those   sweet,  low  tones,  that  seemed 

like  a  weird  incantation, 
Told  she  the  tale  of  the  fair  Lilinau,  who  was 

wooed  by  a  phantom, 
That,  through  the  pines  o'er  her  father's  lodge, 

in  the  hush  of  the  twilight, 
Breathed  like  the  evening  wind,  and  whispered 

love  to  the  maiden, 
Till  she  followed  his  green  and  waving  plume 

through  the  forest. 


EVANGELINE.  83 

And  never  more  returned,  nor  was  seen  again  by 
her  people. 

Silent  with  wonder  and  strange  surprise,  Evan- 
geline listened 

To  the  soft  flow  of  her  magical  words,  till  the 
region  around  her 

Seemed  like  enchanted  grouncL  and  her  swarthy 
guest  the  enchantress. 

Slowly  over  the  tops  of  the  Ozark  Mountains 
the  moon  rose, 

lighting  the  little  tent,  and  with  a  mysterious 
splendor 

Touching  the  sombre  leaves,  and  embracing  and 
filling  the  woodland. 

With  a  delicious  sound  the  brook  rushed  by, 
and  the  branches 

Swayed  and  sighed  overhead  in  scarcely  audible 
whispers. 

Filled  with  the  thoughts  of  love  was  Evange- 
line's heart,  but  a  secret, 

Subtile  sense  crept  in  of  pain  and  indefinite 
terror, 

As  the  cold,  poisonous  snake  creeps  into  the 
nest  of  the  swallow. 

It  was  no  earthly  fear.  A  breath  from  the  re- 
gion of  spirits 

Seemed  to  float  in  the  air  of  night ;  and  she 
felt  for  a  moment 

That,  like  the  Indian  maid,  she,  too,  was  pur- 
suing a  phantom. 

With  this  thought  she  slept,  and  the  fear  and  the 
phantom  had  vanished. 


Early  upon  the  morrow  the  march  was  resumed  ; 

and  the  Shawnee 
Said,  as  they  journeyed  along,  "On  the  western 

slope  of  these  mountains 
Dwells  in  his  little  village  the  Black   Robe  chief 

of  the  Mission. 


84  EVANGELINE. 

Much  he  teaches  the  people,  and  tells  them  of 
Mary  and  Jesus  ; 

Ivoud  laugh  their  hearts  with  joy,  and  weep  with 
pain,  as  they  hear  him." 

Then,  with  a  sudden  and  secret  emotion,  Evan- 
geline answered, 

' '  L,et  us  go  to  the  Mission,  for  there  good  tidings 
await  us  !  " 

Thither  they  turned  their  steeds  ;  and  behind  a 
spur  of  the  mountains, 

Just  as  the  sun  went  down,  they  heard  a  murmur 
of  voices, 

And  in  a  meadow  green  and  broad,  by  the  bank 
of  a  river, 

Saw  the  tents  of  the  Christians,  the  tents  of  the 
Jesuit  Mission. 

Under  a  towering  oak,  that  stood  in  the  midst 
of  the  village, 

Knelt  the  Black  Robe  chief  with  his  children. 
A  crucifix  fastened 

High  on  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  and  overshad- 
owed by  grape-vines, 

Looked  with  its  agonized  face  on  the  multitude 
kneeling  beneath  it. 

This  was  their  rural  chapel.  Aloft,  through 
the  intricate  arches 

Of  its  aerial  roof,  arose  the  chant  of  their  ves- 
pers, 

Mingling  its  notes  with  the  soft  susurrus  and 
sighs  of  the  branches. 

Silent,  with  heads  uncovered,  the  travellers, 
nearer   approaching, 

Knelt  on  the  swarded  floor,  and  joined  in  the 
evening  devotions. 

But  when  the  service  was  done,  and  the  bene- 
diction had  fallen 

Forth  from  the  hands  of  the  priest,  like  seed 
from  the  hands  of  the  sower, 

Slowly  the  reverend  man  advanced  to  the  stran- 
gers and  bade  them 


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'Numberless  torrents,  with  ceaseless  Bound,  descend  10  the  ocean. 


EVANGELINE.  8; 

Welcome ;  and  when  they  replied,  he  smiled 
with  benignant  expression, 

Hearing  the  homelike  sounds  of  his  mother- 
tongue  in  the  forest, 

And,  with  words  of  kindness,  conducted  them 
into  his  wigwam. 

There  upon  mats  and  skins  they  reposed,  and 
on  cakes  of  the  maize-ear 

Feasted,  and  slaked  their  thirst  from  the  wa- 
ter gourd  of  the  teacher. 

Soon  was  their  story  told  ;  and  the  priest  with 
solemnity  answered  : — 

' '  Not  six  suns  have  risen  and  set  since  Ga- 
briel, seated 

On  this  mat  by  my  side,  where  now  the  maider 
reposes, 

Told  me  this  same  sad  tale ;  then  arose  and 
continued  his  journey  !  " 

Soft  was  the  voice  of  the  priest,  and, he  spake 
with  an  accent  of  kindness  ; 

But  on  Evangeline's  heart  fell  his  words  as  in 
winter  the  snow-flakes 

Fall  into  some  lone  nest  from  which  the  birds 
have  departed. 

"  Far  to  the  north  he  has  gone,"  continued  the 
priest;   "but  in  autumn, 

When  the  chase  is  done,  will  return  again  to 
the  Mission." 

Then  Evangeline  said,  and  her  voice  was  meek 
and  submissive, 

"Let  me  remain  with  thee,  for  my  soul  is  sad 
and  affliaed." 

So  seemed  it  wise  and  well  unto  all ;  and  be- 
times on  the  morrow, 

Mounting  his  Mexican  steed,  with  his  Indian 
guides  and  companions, 

Homeward  Basil  returned,  and  Evangeline  stayed 
at  the  Mission. 


86  EVANGELINE. 

Slowly,  slowly,  slowly  the  days  succeeded 
each  other, — 

Days  and  weeks  and  months ;  and  the  fields 
of  maize  that  were  springing 

Green  from  the  ground  when  a  stranger  she 
came,  now  waving  above  her, 

Lifted  their  slender  shafts,  with  leaves  interla- 
cing, and  forming 

Cloisters  for  mendicant  crows  and  granaries  pil- 
laged by  squirrels. 

Then  in  the  golden  weather  the  maize  was 
husked,  and  the  maidens 

Blushed  at  each  blood-red  ear,  for  that  beto- 
kened a  lover, 

But  at  the  crooked  laughed,  and  called  it  a  thief 
in  the  cornfield. 

Even  the  blood-red  ear  to  Evangeline  brought 
not  her  lover. 

"  Patience  !  "  the  priest  would  say  ;  "  have  faith, 
and  thy  prayer  will  be  answered  ! 

Look  at  this  delicate  plant  that  lifts  its  head 
from  the  meadow, 

See  how  its  leaves  all  point  to  the  north,  as  true 
as  the  magnet ; 

This  is  the  compass-flower,  that  the  finger  of  God 
has  suspended 

Here  on  its  fragile  stock,  to  direct  the  traveller's 
journey 

Over  the  sea-like,  pathless,  limitless  waste  of 
the  desert. 

Such  in  the  soul  of  man  is  faith.  The  blos- 
soms of  passion, 

Gay  and  luxuriant  flowers,  are  brighter  and 
fuller  of  fragrance, 

But  they  beguile  us,  and  lead  us  astray,  and 
their  odor  is  deadly. 

Only  this  humble  plant  can  guide  us  here,  and 
hereafter 

Crown  us  with  asphodel  flowers,  that  are  wet 
with  the  dews  of  nepenthe." 


EVANGELINE.  87 

So  came  the    autumn,    and  passed,    and   the 

winter, — yet  Gabriel  come  not ; 
Blossomed   the  opening  spring,    and   the   notes 

of  the  robin  and  bluebird 
Sounded  sweet  upon   wold    and   in    wood,    yet 

Gabriel  came  not. 
But  on  the  breath  of  the  summer  winds  a  ru- 
mor was  wafted 
Sweeter  than  song  of  bird,   or  hue  or  odor  of 

blossom. 
Far   to    the    north    and    east,    it    said,   in    the 

Michigan  forests, 
Gabriel    had    his    lodge  by    the    banks   of  the 

Saginaw  river. 
And,    with   returning    guides,    that   sought  the 

lakes  of  St.  Lawrence, 
Saying   a  sad   farewell,    Evangeline   went   from 

the  Mission. 
When   over  weary   ways,  by   long  and  perilous 

marches, 
She  had   attained   at  length   the   depths   of  the 

Michigan  forests, 
Found  she  the  hunter's  lodge  deserted  and  fallen 

to  ruin  ! 


Thus  did  the  long,  sad  years  glide  on,  and 
in  seasons  and  places 

Divers  and  distant  far  was  seen  the  wandering 
maiden  ; — 

Now  in  the  Tents  of  Grace  of  the  meek  Mo- 
ravian Missions, 

Now  in  the  noisy  camps  and  the  battle-fields 
of  the  army, 

Now  in  secluded  hamlets,  in  towns  and  popu- 
lous cities. 

Like  a  phantom  she  came,  and  passed  away 
unremembered . 

Fair  was  she,  and  young,  when  in  hope  began 
the  long  journey ; 


88  EVANGELINE. 

Faded  was  she  and  old,  when  in  disappointment 
it  ended. 

Each  succeeding  year  stole  something  away 
from  her  beauty. 

Leaving  behind  it,  broader  and  deeper,  the 
gloom  and  the  shadow. 

Then  there  appeared  and  spread  faint  streaks 
of  gray  o'er  her  forehead, 

Dawn  of  another  life,  that  broke  o'er  her  earth- 
ly horizon, 

As  in  the  eastern  sky  the  first  faint  streaks  of 
the  morning. 


While  from  its  rocky  caverns  tho  deep-voiced,  neighboring1  ocean 
Speaks,  and  in  accents  disconsolate  answers  the  wail  of  the  forest. 


EVANGELINE. 


89 


V. 


•N    that    delightful    land,    which    is 

washed  by  the  Delaware's  waters, 

Guarding  in  sylvan  shades  the  name 

of  Penn  the  apostle. 
-Stands  on  the  banks  of  its  beautiful 
stream  the  city  he  founded. 
There  all  the  air  is  balm,  and  the  peach 

is  the  emblem  of  beauty, 
And  the  streets  still  re-echo  the  names  of 

the  trees  of  the  forest, 
As  if  they  fain  would  appease  the  Dryads 

whose  haunts  they  molested. 
There  from  the  troubled  sea  had  Evan- 
geline landed,   an  exile, 
Finding  among  the   children   of  Penn   a   home 

and  a  country. 
There  old  Rene   L,eblanc  had  died  ;    and  when 

he  departed, 
Saw   at  his  side   only   one   of  all   his   hundred 

descendants. 
Something   at  least  there  was   in   the    friendly 

streets  of  the  cit}^ 
Something   that  spake  to  her   heart,  .-id  made 

her  no  longer  a  stranger  ; 
And  her  ear  was  pleased  with  the  Thee  and 
Thou  of  the  Quakers, 


90  EVANGELINE. 

For  it  recalled  the  past,  the  old  Acadian  coun- 
try, 
Where  all  men  were  equal,  and  all  were  broth- 
ers and  sisters. 
So, .  when  the  fruitless  search,  the  disappointed 

endeavor, 
Ended,   to   recommence  no    more    upon    earth, 

uncomplaining, 
Thither,  as  leaves  to  the  light,  were  turned  her 

thoughts  and  her  footsteps. 
As  from  a  mountain's  top  the  rainy   mists  of 

the  morning 
Roll   away,  and   afar  we   behold    the  landscape 

below  us, 
Sun-illumined,   with   shining    rivers    and    cities 

and  hamlets, 
So   fell  the  mists  from  her  mind,  and  she   saw 

the  world  far  below  her, 
Dark   no   longer,    but   all  illumined  with   love ; 

and  the  pathway 
Which   she  had  climbed    so   far,    lying  smooth 

and  fair  in  the  distance. 
Gabriel  was  not   forgotten.     Within   her   heart 

was  his  image, 
Clothed  in  the  beauty   of  love   and   youth,    as 

last  she  beheld  him, 
Only  more  beautiful  made  by  his   deathlike  si- 
lence and  absence. 
Into  her  thoughts  of  him  time  entered  not,  for 

it  was  not. 
Over   him  years  had   no   power  ;    he    was    not 

changed,  but  transfigured  ; 
He   had  become  to   her    heart   as   one   who   is 

dead,  and  not  absent ; 
Patience  and   abnegation   of  self,   and   devotion 

to  others, 
This  was  the  lesson   a   life  of  trial  and  sorrow 

had  taught  her. 
So  was  her  love  diffused,   but,   like    to    some 

odorous  spices, 


EVANGELINE. 


91 


Suffered  no  waste  nor  loss,  though  filling  the 
air  with  aroma. 

Other  hope  had  she  none,  nor  wish  in  lite,  but 
to  follow 

Meekly,  with  reverent  step,  the  sacred  feet  of 
her  Saviour. 

Thus  many  years  she  lived  as  a  Sister  of  Mer- 
cy ;  frequenting 


*  Night  after  night,  when  the  world  was  asleep,  as  the  watchman 
repeated 
Loud,  through  the  gusty  streets^  that  ail  was  well  in  the  city, 
High  at  some  lonely  window  he  saw  the  light  of  her  taper." 

Lonely    and    wretched    roofs    in     the    crowded 

lanes  of  the  city, 
Where  distress   and  want  concealed  themselves 

from  the  sunlight, 
Where  disease  and  sorrow  in  garrets  languished 

neglected. 


92  EVANGELINE. 

Night  after  night,  when  the  world  was  asleep, 

as  the  watchman  repeated 
L,oud,   through  the  gusty  streets,  that   all  was 

well  in  the  city, 
High  at  some  lonely  window  he  saw  the  light  of 

of  her  taper. 
Day  after  day,  in  the  gray  of  the  dawn,  as  slow 

through  the  suburbs 
Plodded  the  German  farmer,   with  flowers  and 

fruits  for  the  market, 
Met   he  that   meek,   pale  face,  returning   home 

from  its  watchings. 


k:  Then  it  came  to  pass  that  a  pestilence  fell  on  the 

city, 
Presaged  by   wondrous   signs,    and    mostly    by 

flocks  of  wild  pigeons, 
Darkening  the  sun  in  their  flight,  with  naught  in 

their  craws  but  an  acorn. 
And,  as  the  tides  of  the  sea  arise  in  the  month  of 

September, 
Flooding  some  silver  stream,  till  it  spreads  to  a 

lake  in  the  meadow, 
So  death  flooded  life,  and,  o'erflowing  its  natural 

margin, 
Spread  to  a  brackish  lake,   the  silver  stream  of 

existence. 
Wealth  had  no  power  to  bribe,   nor  beauty  to 

charm,  the  oppressor  ; 
But  all  perished  alike  beneath  the  scourge  of  his 

anger ;  — 
Only,  alas  !    the  poor,   who  had  neither  friends 

nor  attendants, 
Crept  away  to  die  in  the  almshouse,  home  of  the 

homeless. 
Then  in  the  suburbs  it  stood,   in  the  midst  of 

meadows  and  woodlands  ; — 
Now  the  city  surrounds  it ;    but  still,   with  its 

gateway  and  wicket 


EVANGELINE.  93 

Meek,  in  the  midst  of  splendor,  its  humble  walls 

seem  to  echo 
Softly  the  words  of  the  Lord  :  —  ' '  The  poor  ye 

always  have  with  you. ' ' 
Thither,  by  night  and  by  day,  came  the  Sister  of 

Mercy.     The  dying 
Looked  up  into  her  face,  and  thought,  indeed,  to 

behold  there 
Gleams  of  celestial   light  encircle   her  forehead 

with  splendor, 
Such  as  the  artist  paints  o'er  the  brows  of  saints 

and  apostles, 
Or  such  as  hangs  by  night  o'er  a  city  seen  at  S, 

distance. 
Unto  their  eyes  it  seemed  the  lamps  of  the  city 

celestial, 
Into  whose  shining   gates   erelong   their  spirits 

would  enter. 


Thus,  on  a  Sabbath  morn,  through  the  streets, 

deserted  and  silent, 
Wending  her  quiet  way,  she  entered  the  door  of 

the  almshouse. 
Sweet  on  the  summer  air  was  the  odor  of  flowers 

in  the  garden  ; 
And  she  paused  on  her  way  to  gather  the  fairest 

among  them, 
That  the  dying  once  more  might  rejoice  in  their 

fragrance  and  beauty. 
Then,  as  she  mounted  the  stairs  to  the  corridors, 

cooled  by  the  east  wind, 
Distant  and  soft  on  her  ear  fell  the  chimes  from 

the  belfry  of  Christ  Church, 
While,  intermingled  with  these,  across  the  mead- 
ows were  wafted 
Sounds  of  psalms,  that  were  sung  by  the  Swedes 

in  their  Church  at  Wicaco. 
Soft  as  descending  wings  fell  the  calm  of  the  hour 

on  her  spirit ; 


94  EVANGELINE. 

Something  within  her  said,  "  At  length  thy  trials 

are  ended  ' '  ; 
And,  with  light  in   her  looks,   she  entered  the 

chambers  of  sickness. 
Noiselessly  moved  about  the  assiduous,   careful 

attendants, 
Moistening  the  feverish  lip,  and  the  aching  brow, 

and  in  silence 
Closing  the  sightless  eyes  of  the  dead,  and  con- 
cealing their  faces, 
Where  on  their  pallets  they  lay,  like   drifts  of 

snow  on  the  roadside. 
Many  a  languid  head,   upraised  as   Evangeline 

entered, 
Turned  on  its  pillow  of  pain  to  gaze  while  she 

passed,  for  her  presence 
Fell  on  their  hearts  like  a  ray  of  the  sun  on  the 

walls  of  a  prison. 
And,  as  she  looked  around,  she  saw  how  Death, 

the  consoler, 
Laying  his  hand  upon  many  a  heart,  had  healed 

it  forever. 
Many   familiar   forms    had   disappeared    in    the 

night-time  ; 
Vacant  their  places  were,   or  filled  already  by 

strangers. 


Suddenly,  as  if  arrested  by  fear  or  a  feeling  of 

wonder, 
Still  she  stood,  with  her  colorless  lips  apart,  while 

a  shudder 
Ran  through  her  frame,  and,  forgotten,  the  flow- 

erlets  dropped  from  her  fingers, 
And   from   her  e3Tes  and   cheeks  the  light  and 

bloom  of  the  morning. 
Then  there  escaped  from  her  lips  a  cry  of  such 

terrible  anguish, 
That  the  dying  heard  it,  and  started  up  from 

their  pillows. 


EVANGELINE.  95 

On  the  pallet  before  her  was  stretched  the  form 

of  an  old  man. 
IvOng,  and  thin,   and  gray  were  the  locks  that 

shaded  his  temples  ; 
But,  as  he  lay  in  the  morning  light,  his  face  for 

a  moment 
Seemed  to  assume  once  more  the  forms  of  its 

earlier  manhood  ; 
So  are  wont  to  be  changed  the  faces  of  those  who 

are  dying. 
Hot  and  red  on  his  lips  still  burned  the  flush  of 

the  fever, 
As  if  life,  like  the  Hebrew,  with  blood  had  be- 
sprinkled its  portals, 
That  the  Angel  of  Death  might  see  the  sign,  and 

pass  over. 
Motionless,    senseless,    dying,    he   lay,    and    his 

spirit  exhausted 
Seemed   to  be   sinking    down   through    infinite 

depths  in  the  darkness, 
Darkness  of  slumber  and.  death,  forever  sinking 

and  sinking. 
Then  through  those  realms  of  shade,  in  multi- 
plied reverberations, 
Heard  he  that  cry  of  pain,  and  through  the  hush 

that  succeeded 
Whispered  a  gentle  voice,  in  accents  tender  and 

saint-like, 
' '  Gabriel  !  O  my  beloved  ! ' '  and  died  away  into 

silence. 
Then  he  beheld,  in  a  dream,  once  more  the  home 

of  his  childhood  ; 
Green    Acadian    meadows,    with   sylvan    rivers 

among  them, 
Village,    and  mountain,    and  woodlands ;    and, 

walking  under  their  shadow, 
As  in  the  days  of  her  youth,  Evangeline  rose  in 

his  vision. 
Tears  came  into  his  eyes  ;  and  as  slowly  he  lifted 

his  eyelids, 


g6  EVANGELINE. 

Vanished  the  vision  away,  but  Evangeline  knelt 

by  his  bedside. 
Vainly  he  strove  to  whisper  her  name,   for  the 

accents  unuttered 
Died  on  his  lips,  and  their  motion  revealed  what 

his  tongue  would  have  spoken. 
Vainly  he  strove  to  rise  ;  and  Evangeline,  kneel- 
ing beside  him, 
Kissed  his  dying  lips,  and  laid  his  head  on  her 

bosom. 
Sweet  was  the  light  of  his  eyes  ;    but  it  suddenly 

sank  into  darkness,    , 
As  when  a  lamp  is  blown  out  by  a  gust  of  wind 

at  a  casement. 


All  was  ended  now,  the  hope,  and  the  fear,  and 

the  sorrow, 
All  the  aching  of  heart,  the  restless,  unsatisfied 

longing, 
All  the  dull,  deep  pain,  and  constant  anguish  of 

patience  ! 
And,  as  she  pressed  once  more  the  lifeless  head 

to  her  bosom, 
Meekly   she  bowed   her   own,    and    murmured, 

"  Father,  I  thank  thee  !  " 


J 


EVANGELINE. 


97 


TILL  stands  the  forest,  primeval ;   but 
far  away  from  its  shadow, 
Side  by  side,  in  their  nameless  graves, 

the  lovers  are  sleeping. 
Under  the  humble  walls  of  the  little 
Catholic  churchyard, 
In   the  heart  of  the  city,   they  lie,  un- 
known and  unnoticed. 
Daily  the  tides  of  life  go  ebbing  and  flow- 
ing beside  them, 
Thousands   of    throbbing   hearts,    where 

theirs  are  at  rest  and  forever, 
Thousands  of  aching  brains,  where  theirs 
no  longer  are  busy, 
Thousands  of  toiling  hands,  where  theirs  have 

ceased  from  their  labors, 
Thousands  of  weary  feet,  where  theirs  have  com- 
pleted their  journey  ! 


Still  stands  the  forest  primeval ;  but  under  the 

shade  of  its  branches 
Dwells  another  race,   with  other  customs   and 

language. 
Only  along  the  shore  of  the  mournful  and  misty 

Atlantic 


98 


EVANGELINE. 


Linger  a  few  Acadian   peasants,  whose    fathers 

from  exile 
Wandered  back  to  their  native  land  to  die  in  its 

bosom. 
In  the  fisherman's  cot  the  wheel  and  the  loom  are 

still  busy  ; 
Maidens  still  wear  their  Norman  caps  and  their 

kirtles  of  homespun, 


"  Side  by  side,  in  their  nameless  craves,  the  lovers  are  sleeping. 
Under  the  humble  walls  of  the  little  Catholic  churchyard, 
In  the  heart  of  the  city," 


And    by   the   evening    fire   repeat   Evangeline's 

story. 
While  from  its  rocky  caverns   the  deep-voiced, 

neighboring  ocean 
Speaks,  and  in  accents  disconsolate  answers  the 

wail  of  the  forest. 


